i  T 


*- 


Virginia: 

The  Old  Dominion 


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James 

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A  number  of  additional  volumes  are  in  preparation, 
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THE  PAGE  COMPANY 
53  Beacon  Street  Boston,  Mass. 


The  Portico  of  Brandon,   from   the   Garden. 

(Set-  page  119) 


VIRGINIA:  THE 

OLD     DOMINION 


As  seen  from  its  Colonial  waterway,  the  Historic 
River  James,  whose  every  succeeding  turn  reveals 
country  replete  with  monuments  and  scenes  recalling 
the  march  of  history  and  its  figures  from  the  days 
of  Captain  John  Smith  to  the  present  time. 


BY 


FRANK  AND  CORTELLE  HUTCHINS 


With  a  map,  and  fifty-four  plates,  of  which  six  are  in 
full  color,  from  photographs  by  the  authors 


THE   PAGE   COMPANY 

BOSTON  <|?  MDCCCCXXI 


Copyright,  iQio.  by 
THE  PAGE  COMPANY 


All  riyhts  reserved 


First  Impression,  May,  1910 
New  Edition,  September,  ly^ 


PRINTED   BY   C.   H.   SIMONDS    COMPANY 
BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.S.A. 


ZJV  "7 

H  r-     / 


TO 

THE  HONOURABLE  FRANCIS  E.  HUTCHINS, 

THE    FATHER    OF    ONE    AUTHOR, 

THE   MORE    THAN    FATHER-IN-LAW   OF    THE   OTHER, 

AND   THE   EVER-STAUNCH   FRIEND   OF    GADABOUT, 

THIS   BOOK   IS    AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED. 


This  volume  rvas  formerly  published  under 
the  title,  "Houseboating  on  a  Colonial 
Waterway";  but  its  appropriateness  for 
inclusion  in  the  "See  America  First  Series" 
to  represent  the  State  of  Virginia  is  so 
obvious  that  the  publishers  have,  in  this 
new  edition,  changed  the  title  to  "Vir- 
ginia: The  Old  Dominion,"  and  reissued 
the  book  in  a  new  dress,  generally  uni- 
form with  the  other  volumes  in  the  series. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ALL  ABOUT  GADABOUT 1 

II.  OUR  FIRST  RUN  AND  A  COZY  HARBOUR      .  10 

III.  LAND,  Ho!    OUR  COUNTRY'S  BIRTHPLACE  .  23 

IV.  A  RUN  AROUND  JAMESTOWN  ISLAND     .        .  32 
V.  FANCIES  AFLOAT  AND  RUINS  ASHORE  .        .  40 

VI.  IN  THE  OLD  CHURCHYARD      ....  54 

VII.  SEEING  WHERE  THINGS  HAPPENED       .        .  66 

VIII.  PIONEER  VILLAGE  LIFE 81 

IX.  GOOD  -  BYE  TO  OLD  JAMES  TOWNE      .        .  86 

X.  A  SHORT  SAIL  AND  AN  OLD  ROMANCE         .  97 

XI.  AT  THE  PIER  MARKED  "  BRANDON  "    .        .  107 

XII.  HARBOUR  DAYS  AND  A  FOGGY  NIGHT  .       .  122 

XIII.  OLD   SILVER,    OLD   PAPERS,    AND   AN   OLD 

COURT  GOWN 135 

XIV.  A  ONE  -  ENGINE  RUN  AND  A  FOREST  TOMB  144 
XV.  NAVIGATING  AN  UNNAVIGABLE  STREAM         .  154 

XVI.  IN  WHICH  WE  GET  TO  WEYANOKE      .        .  1G1 
XVII.  ACROSS  RIVER  TO  FLEUR  DE  HUNDRED       .  171 
XVIII.  GADABOUT  GOES  TO  CHURCH         .       .       .170 
XIX.  WESTOVER,  THE  HOME  OF  A  COLONIAL  BELLE  193 
XX.  AN  OLD  COURTYARD  AND  A  SUN  -  DIAL       .  204 
XXI.  AN  UNDERGROUND  MYSTERY  AND  A  DUCKING- 
STOOL     215 

XXII.  A  BAD  STABT  AND  A  VIEW  OF  BERKELEY  .  228 

vii 


vm 


CONTENT'S 


J  AliJB 

THE  RIGHT  WAY  TO  Go  TO  SHIRLKY  .        .     244 
FKOM   CREEK    HARUOUH  TO   COLONIAL  RE- 

CEPTION        .......     258 

AN  INCONGRUOUS  BIT  OF  HOUSEBOATINO     .     268 
THE  END  OF  THE  VOYAGE       .       .       .        .282 

INDEX  295 


XXIII. 
XXIV. 

XXV. 
XXVI. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

THE   PORTICO   OF   BRANDON,   FROM   THE   GARDEN 

(In  full  color)  (See  page  119)        .  Frontispiece. 

MAP  OF  THE  JAMES  RIVER  FROM  RICHMOND  TO  ITS 
MOUTH  .......  1 

THE  HOUSEBOAT  GADABOUT       ....          6 

IN  THE  FORWARD  CABIN. — LOOKING  AFT  FROM 
THE  FORWARD  CABIN  .....  8 

ALONG  THE  SHORE   OF  CHUCKATUCK  CREEK  (In 

full  color)  .  .  .  .  .  .18 

"  JUST  THE  WILD  BEAUTY  OF  THE  SHORES,  THE 
NOBLE  EXPANSE  OF  THE  STREAM,  .  .  .  AND 
GADABOUT  "  ......  26 

JAMESTOWN  ISLAND  FROM  THE  RIVER  (In  full 
color)  .......  82 

IN    BACK    RIVER. — THE    BEACH    AT    JAMESTOWN 

ISLAND         .......        34 

WHARF  SIGN  AT  JAMESTOWN  ISLAND. — THE  "LoNE 

CYPRESS  "  ......        38 

THE    BRIDGE   ACROSS   BACK    RIVER. —  THE    ROAD 

ACROSS  THE  ISLAND         .....        48 

THE  RUINED  TOWER  OF  THE  OLD  VILLAGE  CHURCH       52 
A  CORNER  IN  THE  OLD  GRAVEYARD  (In  full  color)       60 

VlEW    FROM    THE    CONFEDERATE    FoRT. LOOKING 

TOWARD  THE  FIRST  LANDING-PLACE  68 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACK 

LOCATING  WHAT   is   LEFT  OF  THE   SITE   OF  THE 
FIRST  SETTLEMENT         ..... 

AN  EXCURSION  DAY  AT  JAMESTOWN  ISLAND 

GADABOUT  LOOKING  FOR  THE  LOST  ISTHMUS. — A 

VISIT  TO  THE  "  LONE  CYPRESS  "  .          .86 

ONE  OF  THE   EARLIEST  EXCAVATIONS. — HUNTING 

FOR  THE  FIRST  STATE  HOUSE  ...        90 

ENTRANCE  TO  CHIPPOAK  CREEK. — COVE  IN  CHIP- 

POAK  CREEK          .  .  .  .  .  .104 

RIVERWARD  FRONT  OF  BRANDON  (In  full  color)     1 1 1 

A    SIDE    PATH    TO    THE    MANOR-HOUSE.—-  THE 

WOODSWAY  TO  BRANDON          .          .          .          .114 

IN  THE  DRAWING-ROOM  .          .          .          .117 

"  VENERABLE  FOUR-POSTERS,  RICHLY  CARVED  AND 
DARK" 127 

A   CORNER  IN   THE   DINING-ROOM. — THE    DRAW- 
ING-ROOM FIREPLACE     .  .          .  .  .130 

TREASURED  PARCHMENTS,  INCLUDING  THE  ORIGI- 
NAL GRANT  OF  1616      .          .          .          .  ISfi 

THE  ANCIENT  GARRISON  HOUSE  .          .          .141 

Miss   HARRISON    IN    THE    COURT   GOWN    OF    HER 
COLONIAL  AUNT,  EVELYN  BYRD       .  .          .142 

STURGEON  POINT  LANDING. — AT  THE  MOUTH  OF 
KITTEWAN   CREEK  .          .          .          .          .147 

THE  FOREST  TOMB. — THE  OLD  KITTKWAN  HOUSE     149 

HUNTING    FOR   THE    CHANNEL. — APPROACHING   A 
NARROW  PLACE  .          .          .          .          .158 

LOWER  WEYANOKE  .          .          .          .          .163 

AN  ANCESTRESS   OF   WEYANOKE. —  CHIEF-JUSTICE 

JOHN   MARSHALL  166 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

UPPER  WEYANOKE. — AT  ANCHOR  OFF  WEYANOKE  172 
PRESENT-DAY  FLEUR  DE  HUNDRED  .  .  .176 
A  FISHING  HAMLET. — A  RIVER  LANDING  .  .  184 

"  LITTLE   BOATS  WERE   NOSING  INTO   THE   BANK 

HERE  AND  THERE"       .          .          .          .          .186 

RIVERWARD  FRONT  OF  WESTOVER         .          .          .194 

THE  HALL,  WITH  ITS  CARVED  MAHOGANY  STAIR- 
CASE   199 

THE  HEPPLEWHITE  SIDEBOARD  WITH  BUTLER'S 
DESK.  — "  FOUR-POSTERS  AND  THE  THINGS  OF 
FOUR-POSTER  DAYS  "  .  .  .  .  .  200 

THE  ROMANTIC  CENTRE  OF  WESTOVER;  EVELYN 
BYRD'S  OLD  ROOM 202 

THE  COLONIAL  COURTYARD  GATES. — TOMB  OF 
COLONEL  WILLIAM  BYRD  .  .  .  .210 

THE  DRAWING-ROOM  MANTELPIECE  AT  WESTOVER     222 

TOMBS  IN  THE  OLD  WESTOVER  CHURCHYARD          .      225 
(In  the  foreground  is  the  tomb  of  Evelyn  Byrd) 

A  TRAPPER'S  HOME  BY  THE  RIVER  BANK.  — 
"  OFTEN  .  .  .  THE  WANDERING  HOUSEBOAT 
COMES  ALONG  TO  FIND  ONLY  AN  EMPTY  PIER  "  234 

BERKELEY;  THE  ANCESTRAL  HOME  OF  A  SIGNER 
OF  THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  AND  OF 
Two  PRESIDENTS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  .  236 

THE  FIELD  ROAD  AND  THE  QUARTERS  .  .  245 

RIVERWARD  FRONT  OF  SHIRLEY  (In  full  color)       .  250 

THE  OLD  "  GREAT  HALL  "  252 

THE  DRAWING-ROOM         .....  257 

THE  KITCHEN  BUILDING,  FIFTY  YARDS  FROM  THE 
MANOR-HOUSE  .  .  .  .  .271 

xi 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

A  BRICK  OVEN  IN  THE  BARE-ROOM     .          .          .  272 

SOME      NOTEWORTHY    PIECES    OF    OLD    SHIRLEY 

PLATE                      27* 

PEALE'B  PORTRAIT  OF  GEORGE  WASHINGTON          .  276 

VARINA             .......  284 

DUTC-H  GAP  CANAL. — FALLING  CREEK         .          .  288 

THE     VOYAGE     ENDED,     GADABOUT    IN    WINTER 

QUARTERS              ......  293 


zii 


Cbarln  City©         V> 


THE  JAMES  RIVER 
From  Richmond  to  its  Mouth 

SCALE  OF  MILES 


6  10  20 

ggnd  McN«lly  &  Co..  Chiojto  New  York 


(NORTHUMBERLANfeC 


•«*  you*    / 

V       c**"^6'  '     '  Kiptopek 

ia^c*  /  Cane  C/iar/e, 


VIRGINIA: 
The  Old  Dominion 


CHAPTER   I 

ALL   ABOUT   GADABOUT 

IT  was  dark  and  still  and  four  o'clock  on 
a  summer  morning.  The  few  cottages  clus- 
tering about  a  landing  upon  a  Virginia  river 
were,  for  the  most  part,  sleeping  soundly, 
though  here  and  there  a  flickering  light  told 
of  some  awakening  home.  Down  close  by  the 
landing  was  one  little  house  wide  awake.  Its 
windows  were  aglow;  lights  moved  about; 
and  busy  figures  passed  from  room  to  room 
and  out  upon  the  porch  in  front. 

Suddenly,  with  a  series  of  quick,  muffled 
explosions,  the  whole  cottage  seemed  carried 
from  its  foundations.  It  slipped  sidewise, 
turned  almost  end  for  end,  then  drifted  slowly 
away  from  its  neighbours,  out  into  the  dark- 
ness and  the  river.  Its  occupants  seemed 
unconscious  of  danger.  There  was  one  of 

1 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

them  standing  on  the  porch  quite  uncon- 
cernedly turning  a  wheel,  while  two  or  three 
others  were  watching,  with  rather  amused  ex- 
pressions, two  little  engines  chugging  away 
near  the  kitchen  stove. 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  houseboat  Gad- 
about left  her  moorings  in  the  outskirts  of 
old  Norfolk,  and  went  spluttering  down  the 
Elizabeth  to  find  Hampton  Roads  and  to 
start  upon  her  cruise  up  the  historic  James 
River. 

But  to  tell  the  story  we  must  begin  before 
that  summer  morning.  It  was  this  way.  We 
were  three:  the  daughter-wife  (who  hap- 
pened to  see  the  magazine  article  that  led  to 
it  all),  her  mother,  and  her  husband.  The 
head  of  the  family,  true  to  the  spirit  of  the 
age,  had  achieved  a  nervous  breakdown  and 
was  under  instructions  from  his  physician  to 
betake  himself  upon  a  long,  a  very  long,  va- 
cation. 

It  was  while  we  were  in  perplexed  consid- 
eration as  to  where  to  go  and  what  to  do,  that 
the  magazine  article  appeared  —  devoted  to 
houseboating.  It  was  a  most  fetching  pro- 
duction with  a  picture  that  appealed  to  every 
overwrought  nerve.  There  was  a  charming 
bit  of  water  with  trees  hanging  over;  a  sky 
all  soft  and  blue  (you  knew  it  was  soft  and 

2 


ALL   ABOUT   GADABOUT 


blue  just  as  you  knew  that  the  air  was  soft 
and  cool;  just  as  you  knew  that  a  drowsy 
peace  and  quiet  was  brooding  over  all)  ;  and 
there,  in  the  midst,  idly  floated  a  houseboat 
with  a  woman  idly  swinging  in  a  hammock 
and  a  man  idly  fishing  from  the  back  porch. 

That  article  opened  a  new  field  for  our 
consideration.  Landlubbers  of  the  landlub- 
bers though  we  were,  its  water-gypsy  charm 
yet  sank  deep.  We  thirsted  for  more.  We 
haunted  the  libraries  until  we  had  exhausted 
the  literature  of  houseboating. 

And  what  a  dangerously  attractive  litera- 
ture we  found!  How  the  cares  and  respon- 
sibilities of  life  fell  away  when  people  went 
a -houseboating !  What  peace  unutterable  fell 
upon  the  worn  and  weary  soul  as  it  drifted 
lazily  on,  far  from  the  noise  and  the  toil  and 
the  reek  of  the  world!  All  times  were  calm; 
all  waters  kind.  The  days  rolled  on  in  ever- 
changing  scenes  of  beauty;  the  nights,  star- 
gemmed  and  mystic,  were  filled  with  music 
and  the  witchery  of  the  sea. 

It  made  good  reading.  It  made  altogether 
too  good  reading.  We  did  not  see  that  then. 
We  did  not  know  that  most  of  the  literature 
of  houseboating  is  the  work  of  people  with 
plenty  of  imagination  and  no  houseboats. 

We  resolved  to  build  a  houseboat.     There 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

was  excitement  in  the  mere  decision;  there 
was  more  when  our  friends  came  to  hear  of 
it.  Their  marked  disapproval  made  our  new 
departure  seem  almost  indecorous.  It  was 
too  late;  the  tide  had  us;  and  disapproval 
only  gave  zest  to  the  project. 

As  a  first  step,  we  proceeded  to  rechristen 
ourselves  from  a  nautical  standpoint.  The 
little  mother  was  so  hopelessly  what  the  boat- 
men call  a  fair-weather  sailor  that  her  weak- 
ness named  her,  and  she  became  Lady  Fair- 
weather.  The  daughter-wife,  after  immur- 
ing herself  for  half  a  day  with  nautical  dic- 
tionaries and  chocolate  creams,  could  not  tell 
whether  she  was  Rudderina  or  Maratima; 
she  finally  concluded  that  she  was  Nautica. 
It  required  neither  time  nor  confectionery  to 
enable  these  two  members  of  the  family  to 
rename  the  third.  They  viewed  the  strut  of 
plain  Mr.  So-and-So  at  the  prospect  of  com- 
manding a  vessel,  and  promptly  dubbed  him 
Commodore. 

An  earnest  quest  was  next  made  for  any- 
body and  everybody  who  had  ever  used,  seen, 
or  heard  of  a  houseboat;  and  the  Commodore 
made  journeys  to  various  waters  where  speci- 
mens of  this  queer  craft  were  to  be  found. 
All  the  time,  three  lead  pencils  were  kept 
busy,  and  plans  and  specifications  became  as 

4 


ALL   ABOUT   GADABOUT 


autumn  leaves.  We  soon  learned  that  there 
was  little  room  for  the  artistic.  Once  Nau- 
tica  had  a  charming  creation,  all  verandas 
and  overhanging  roofs  and  things;  but  an 
old  waterman  came  along  and  talked  about 
wind  and  waves,  and  most  of  the  overhanging 
art  on  that  little  houseboat  disappeared  under 
the  eraser. 

;'  That's  all  good  enough  for  one  of  those 
things  you  just  tie  to  a  bank  and  hang  Chi- 
nese lanterns  on,"  he  said.  "  But  it  would 
never  do  for  a  boat  that's  going  to  get  out 
in  wide  water  and  take  what's  coming  to 
it." 

When  we  concluded  that  we  had  the  plans 
to  our  satisfaction  (or  rather  that  we  never 
should  have,  which  amounted  to  the  same 
thing),  we  turned  over  to  a  builder  the  task 
of  making  them  into  something  that  would 
float  and  hold  people  and  go.  The  resulting 
craft,  after  passing  through  a  wrecking  and 
some  rebuilding,  we  called  Gadabout.  She 
was  about  fifty  feet  long  and  twelve  feet  wide 
over  all,  as  the  watermen  say;  and  was  pro- 
pelled by  twin  screws,  driven  by  two  small 
gasoline  engines.  Though  not  a  thing  of 
beauty,  yet,  as  she  swung  lazily  at  her  moor- 
ings with  her  wide,  low  windows  and  the 
little  hooded  cockpit  that  we  tried  hard  not 

5 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

to  call  a  porch,  she  looked  cozy  and  comfort- 
able. Her  colouring  was  colonial  yellow  and 
white,  with  a  contrast  of  dark  olive  on  the 
side  runways  and  the  decks. 

Inside,  Gadabout  was  arranged  as  house- 
like  and,  we  thought,  as  homelike  as  boating 
requirements  would  permit.  There  were  two 
cabins,  one  at  either  end  of  the  craft.  Be- 
tween these,  and  at  one  side  of  the  passage- 
way connecting  them,  was  what  we  always 
thought  of  as  the  kitchen,  but  always  took 
care  to  speak  of  as  the  galley. 

At  first  glance,  each  of  the  cabins  would 
be  taken  as  a  general  living-room.  Each  was 
that;  but  also  a  little  of  everything  else.  At 
customary  intervals,  one  compartment  or  the 
other  would  become  a  dining-cabin.  Again, 
innocent  looking  bits  of  wall  would  give  way, 
and  there  would  appear  beds,  presses,  lava- 
tories, and  a  lamentable  lack  of  room. 

Both  cabins  were  finished  in  old  oak,  dark 
and  dead;  there  is  a  superabundance  of 
brightness  on  the  water.  The  ceilings  showed 
the  uncovered,  dark  carlines  or  rafters.  The 
walls  had,  along  the  top,  a  row  of  niches  for 
books;  and  along  the  bottom,  a  deceptive  sort 
of  wainscoting,  each  panel  of  which  was  a 
locker  door.  Between  book  niches  above  and 
wainscoting  below,  the  walls  were  paneled  in 

6 


THE    HOUSEBOAT    GADABOUT. 


ALL  ABOUT   GADABOUT 


green  burlap  with  brown  rope  for  molding. 
The  furnishing  was  plain. 

The  kitchen  or  galley  was  rather  small  as 
kitchens  go,  and  rather  large  as  galleys  go. 
It  would  not  do  to  tell  all  the  things  that  were 
in  it;  for  anybody  would  see  that  they  could 
not  all  be  there.  Perhaps  it  would  be  well 
to  mention  merely  the  gasoline  stove,  the 
refrigerator,  the  pump  and  sink,  the  wall- 
table,  the  cupboards  for  supplies,  the  closet 
for  the  man's  serving  coats  and  aprons,  the 
racks  of  blue  willow  ware  dishes,  and  the  big 
sliding  door. 

One  has  to  mention  the  big  sliding  door; 
for  it  made  such  a  difference.  It  worked  up 
and  down  like  a  window-sash,  and  always 
suggested  the  conundrum,  When  is  a  galley 
not  a  galley?  For  when  it  was  down,  it 
disclosed  nothing  and  the  galley  was  a  galley; 
but  when  it  was  up,  it  disclosed  a  recess  in 
which  two  little  gasoline  motors  sat  side  by 
side,  and  the  galley  was  an  engine-room. 

It  was  a  very  ingenious  and  inconvenient 
arrangement.  Operating  the  stove  and  the 
engines  at  the  same  time  was  scarcely  prac- 
ticable ;  and  we  were  often  forced  to  the  hard 
choice  of  lying  still  on  a  full  stomach  or  trav- 
elling on  an  empty  one. 

There    yet    remains    to    be    described    the 

r 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

crew's  quarters.  The  crew  consisted  of  two 
hands,  both  strong  and  sturdy,  and  both  be- 
longing to  the  same  coloured  man.  Though 
our  trusty  tar,  Henry,  had  doubtless  never 
heard  "  The  Yarn  of  the  '  Nancy  Bell '  "  and 
had  never  eaten  a  shipmate  in  his  life,  yet 
he  had  a  whole  crew  within  himself  as  truly 
as  the  "  elderly  naval  man  "  who  had  eaten 
one.  There  was  therefore  no  occasion  for 
extensive  quarters.  Fortunately,  an  available 
space  at  the  stern  was  ample  for  the  crew's 
cabin  and  all  appointments. 

All  these  interior  arrangements  were  with- 
out the  makeshifts  so  often  found  in  house- 
boats. There  were  no  curtains  for  partition 
walls  nor  crude  bunks  for  beds.  People 
aboard  a  houseboat  must  at  best  be  living  in 
close  quarters.  But,  upon  even  the  moderate 
priced  craft,  much  of  the  comfort,  privacy, 
and  refinement  of  home  life  may  be  enjoyed 
by  heading  off  an  outlay  that  tends  toward 
gilt  and  grill  work  and  turning  it  into  sub- 
stantial partitions,  real  beds,  baths,  and  lava- 
tories. 

Gadabout  was  square  at  both  ends;  so  that 
the  uninitiated  were  not  always  sure  which 
way  she  was  going  to  go.  Indeed,  for  a 
while,  her  closest  associates  were  conserva- 
tive in  forecasting  on  that  point.  But  that 

8 


ALL   ABOUT   GADABOUT 


was  for  another  reason.  The  boat  was  of 
extremely  light  draft.  While  such  a  feature 
enables  the  houseboater  to  navigate  very  shal- 
low waters  (where  often  he  finds  his  most 
charming  retreats),  yet  it  also  enables  the 
houseboat,  under  certain  conditions  of  wind 
and  tide,  to  go  sidewise  with  all  the  blunder- 
ing facility  of  a  crab. 

At  first,  in  making  landings  we  were 
forced  to  leave  it  pretty  much  to  Gadabout 
as  to  which  side  of  the  pier  she  was  to  come 
up  on,  and  which  end  first,  and  with  how 
much  of  a  bump.  But  all  such  troubles  soon 
disappeared;  and,  as  there  seemed  no  change 
in  the  craft  herself,  we  were  forced  to  believe 
that  our  own  inexperience  had  had  something 
to  do  with  our  difficulties. 

To  Gadabout  and  her  crew,  add  anchors, 
chains  and  ropes,  small  boats,  poles  and 
sweeps,  parallel  rulers,  dividers  and  charts, 
anchor-lights,  lanterns  and  side-lights,  com- 
passes, barometers  and  megaphones,  fenders, 
grapnels  and  boathooks  —  until  the  landlub- 
berly  owners  are  almost  frightened  back  to 
solid  land;  and  then  all  is  ready  for  a  house- 
boat cruise. 


CHAPTER    II 

OUR   FIRST    RUN    AND   A    COZY    HARBOUR 

DAYLIGHT  came  while  Gadabout  was  lum- 
bering down  the  Elizabeth,  and  in  the  glory 
of  the  early  morning  she  followed  its  waters 
out  into  Hampton  Roads,  the  yawning  es- 
tuarial  mouth  of  the  James  emptying  into 
Chesapeake  Bay. 

She  would  probably  have  started  in  upon 
her  cruise  up  the  historic  river  without  more 
ado  if  we  had  not  bethought  ourselves  that 
she  was  carrying  us  into  the  undertaking 
breakfastless.  The  wheel  was  put  over  hard 
to  port  (we  got  that  out  of  the  books)  and 
the  craft  was  run  in  behind  Craney  Island 
and  anchored. 

While  our  breakfast  was  preparing,  we  all 
gathered  in  the  forward  cockpit  to  enjoy  the 
scene  and  the  life  about  us.  The  houseboat 
was  lying  in  a  quiet  lagoon  bordered  on  the 
mainland  side  by  a  bit  of  Virginia's  great 
truck  garden.  Here  and  there  glimpses  of 
chimneys  and  roof  lines  told  of  truckers' 

10 


OUR   FIRST   RUN   AND   A    COZY   HARBOUR 

homes,  while  cultivated  fields  stretched  far 
inland. 

The  height  of  the  trucking  season  was  past, 
yet  crates  and  barrels  of  vegetables  were  be- 
ing hauled  to  the  water's  edge  for  shipment. 
The  negroes  sang  as  they  drove,  but  often 
punctuated  the  melody  with  strong  language 
designed  to  encourage  the  mules.  One  wail- 
ing voice  came  to  our  ears  writh  the  set  re- 
frain, "  O  feed  me,  white  folks!  White 
folks,  feed  me ! "  The  crates  and  barrels 
were  loaded  on  lighters  and  floated  out  to 
little  sailing  boats  that  went  tacking  past  our 
bows  on  their  way  to  Norfolk. 

It  was  a  pretty  scene,  but  there  was  one 
drawback  to  it  all.  Everything  showed  the 
season  so  far  advanced,  and  served  to  remind 
us  of  the  lateness  of  our  start.  We  had  in- 
tended to  take  our  little  voyage  on  the  James 
in  the  springtime.  It  had  been  a  good  deal 
a  matter  of  sentiment;  but  sentiment  will 
have  its  way  in  houseboating.  We  had 
wished  to  begin  in  that  gentle  season  when 
the  history  of  the  river  itself  began,  and  when 
the  history  of  this  country  of  ours  began 
with  it. 

For,  whatever  may  have  gone  before,  the 
real  story  of  the  James  and  of  America  too 
commences  with  the  bloom  of  the  dogwood 

11 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

some  three  hundred  years  ago,  when  from  the 
wild  waste  of  the  Atlantic  three  puny,  storm- 
worn  vessels  (scarcely  more  seaworthy  than 
our  tub  of  a  houseboat)  beat  their  way  into 
the  sheltering  mouth  of  this  unknown  river. 

That  was  in  the  days  when  the  nations  of 
Europe  were  greedily  contending  for  what 
Columbus  had  found  on  the  other  side  of  the 
world.  In  that  struggle  England  was  slow 
to  get  a  foothold.  Neglect,  difficulty,  and 
misfortune  made  her  colonies  few  and  short- 
lived. By  the  opening  of  the  seventeenth 
century  Spain  and  France,  or  perhaps  Spain 
alone,  seemed  destined  to  possess  the  entire 
new  hemisphere.  In  all  the  extent  of  the 
Americas,  England  was  not  then  in  possession 
of  so  much  as  a  log  fort.  Apparently  the 
struggle  was  ended  and  England  defeated. 
No  one  then  could  have  imagined  what  we 
now  behold  -  -  English-speaking  people  pos- 
sessing most  and  dominating  all  of  that  new- 
found Western  World. 

This  miracle  was  wrought  by  the  coming 
of  those  three  little  old-time  ships,  the  Sarah 
Constant,  the  Goodspeed,  and  the  Discovery. 

It  was  in  the  year  1607  that  the  quaint, 
high-sterned  caravels,  representing  the  forlorn 
hope  of  England,  crossed  the  ocean  to  found 
a  colony  on  Roanoke  Island.  Storm-tossed 

12 


OUR   FIRST   RUN   AND   A   COZY   HARBOUR 

and  driven  out  of  their  reckoning,  they  turned 
for  refuge  one  April  day  into  a  yawning 
break  in  the  coast-line  that  we  now  call  Chesa- 
peake Bay.  Following  the  sheltering,  invit- 
ing waters  inland,  they  took  their  way  up  a 
"  Create  River,"  bringing  to  it  practically 
the  first  touch  of  civilization  and  establishing 
upon  its  shore  the  first  permanent  English 
settlement  in  the  New  World  —  the  birth- 
place of  our  country. 

The  civilizers  began  their  work  promptly. 
Even  as  they  sailed  up  the  river  looking  for 
a  place  to  found  their  colony,  they  robbed  the 
stream  of  its  Indian  name,  Powhatan,  that 
so  befitted  the  bold,  tawny  flow,  bestowing 
instead  the  name  of  the  puerile  King  of  Eng- 
land. That  was  the  first  step  toward  writing 
in  English  the  story  of  the  James  River,  the 
"  Create  River,"  the  "  King's  River." 

It  was  later  by  three  hundred  years  lacking 
one  when  our  houseboat  came  along  to  gather 
up  that  story.  But  to  our  regret  it  was  not 
springtime.  The  dogwood  blossoms  had  come 
and  gone  when  Gadabout  lay  behind  Craney 
Island;  and  she  would  start  upon  her  cruise 
up  the  James  in  the  heart  of  the  summer- 
time. 

In  some  way  that  only  those  who  know  the 
laze  of  houseboating  can  understand,  the 

13 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

hours  slipped  by  in  that  tiny,  tucked-away 
haven,  and  it  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
when  Gadabout  slowly  felt  her  way  out  from 
behind  the  island  and  started  up  the  James 
in  the  wake  of  the  Sarah  Constant,  the  Good- 
speed,  and  the  Discovery.  That  historic  wake 
we  were  to  follow  for  the  first  thirty  miles 
of  our  journey,  when  it  would  bring  us  to  the 
spot  on  the  bank  of  the  river  where  those 
first  colonists  landed  and  built  their  little  set- 
tlement which  (still  honouring  an  unworthy 
king)  they  called  James  Towne. 

As  Gadabout  sturdily  headed  her  stubby 
bow  up  the  wide,  majestic  waterway,  we 
looked  about  us.  After  all,  what  had  three 
centuries  done  to  this  gateway  of  American 
civilization?  Surely  not  very  much.  Keep- 
ing one's  eyes  in  the  right  direction  it  was 
easy  to  blot  out  three  hundred  years,  and  to 
feel  that  we  were  looking  upon  about  the 
same  scene  that  those  first  colonists  beheld  - 
just  the  primeval  waste  of  rolling  waters, 
lonely  marsh,  and  wooded  shore. 

But  eyes  are  unruly  things;  and,  to  be 
sure,  there  were  other  directions  in  which  to 
look.  Glances  northward  took  in  a  scene  dif- 
ferent enough  from  the  one  that  met  the  eyes 
of  those  early  voyagers. 

Upon  the  low  point  of  land  along  which 
14 


OUR    FIRST   RUN   AND   A    COZY   HARBOUR 

they  at  last  found  a  channel  into  the  James 
and  which  (in  their  relief)  they  named  Point 
Comfort,  now  stood  a  huge  modern  hostelry. 

To  the  left  of  this,  the  ancient  shore-line 
was  now  broken  by  a  dull,  square  structure 
that  reared  its  ugly  bulk  against  the  sky  — 
a  strangely  grim  marker  of  the  progress  of 
three  centuries.  For  this  was  the  grain  ele- 
vator at  Newport  News,  spouting  its  endless 
stream  to  feed  the  Old  World,  and  standing 
almost  on  the  spot  where  those  first  settlers 
in  the  New  World,  sick  and  starving,  once 
begged  and  then  fought  the  Indians  for  corn. 
Lying  in  the  offing  were  great  ships  from 
overseas  that  had  come  to  this  land  of  the 
starving  colonists  for  grain. 

Beyond  all  these  could  be  seen  something 
of  the  town  of  Newport  News  itself.  Towers 
and  spires  and  home  smoke-wreaths  we  saw, 
where  those  beginners  of  our  country  saw 
only  the  spires  of  the  lonely  pines  and  the 
smoke  from  hostile  fires. 

As  our  houseboat  skirted  the  southern  shore 
of  the  James  in  the  sunny  afternoon,  our 
engines  chugging  merrily,  our  flags  flying, 
and  our  two  trailing  rowboats  dancing  on  the 
boiling  surge  kicked  up  astern,  we  felt  that 
our  cruise  was  well  begun.  Not  that  we  were 
misled  for  a  moment  by  that  boiling  surge 

15 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

astern  into  the  belief  that  we  were  making 
much  progress.  We  had  early  perceived  that 
Gadabout  made  a  great  stir  over  small  things, 
and  that  she  went  faster  at  the  stern  than 
anywhere  else. 

Yet  all  that  was  well  enough.  So  long  as 
the  sun  shines  and  the  water  lies  good  and 
flat,  dawdling  along  in  such  a  craft  is  an 
ideal  way  to  travel.  If  the  houseboat  is  built 
with  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable,  as  it 
ought  to  be,  the  homey  feeling  comes  quickly 
to  the  family  group  aboard.  Day  after  day 
brings  new  scenes  and  places,  yet  the  family 
life  goes  on  unbroken.  It  is  as  though  Alad- 
din had  rubbed  the  wonderful  lamp,  and  the 
old  home  had  magically  drifted  away  and 
started  out  to  see  what  the  world  was  like. 

Now,  just  ahead  of  us  where  the  chart  had 
a  little  asterisk,  the  river  had  a  little  light- 
house perched  high  over  the  water  on  its  long 
spindling  legs.  Gadabout  ran  just  inside  the 
light  and  quite  close  to  it.  It  is  an  old  and 
a  pretty  custom  by  which  a  passing  vessel 
"  speaks  "  a  lighthouse.  In  this  instance  per- 
haps we  were  a  trifle  tardy,  for  the  kindly 
keeper  greeted  us  first  with  three  strokes  of 
his  deep-toned  bell.  Gadabout  responded 
with  three  of  her  bravest  blasts. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  sun  got  low,  and 
16 


OUR   FIRST   RUN   AND   A   COZY   HARBOUR 

with  the  late  afternoon  something  of  a  wind 
whipped  up  from  the  bay,  and  the  wide,  low- 
shored  river  rolled  dark  and  unfriendly.  We 
found  our  thoughts  outstripping  Gadabout  in 
the  run  toward  a  harbour  for  the  night. 

That  word  "  harbour "  comes  to  mean  a 
good  deal  to  the  houseboater  who  attempts 
to  make  a  cruiser  of  his  unseaworthy,  lub- 
berly craft.  A  little  experience  on  even  in- 
land waters  in  their  less  friendly  moods  de- 
velops in  him  a  remarkable  aptitude  for  find- 
ing holes  in  the  bank  to  stick  his  boat  in. 

Sometimes  the  vessel  is  seaworthy  enough 
to  lie  out  and  take  whatever  wind  and  waves 
may  inflict;  but  that  is  usually  where  much 
of  the  charm  and  comfort  of  the  houseboat 
has  been  sacrificed  to  make  her  so.  Then  too 
the  houseboater  is  usually  quite  a  landlubber 
after  all;  so  that  even  if  the  boat  is  strong 
enough  to  meet  an  angry  sea,  the  owner's 
stomach  is  not.  And,  over  and  above  all  this, 
is  the  fact  that  miserably  pitching  and  rolling 
about  in  grim  battle  with  the  elements  is  not 
houseboating. 

It  is  easy  then  to  see  that  snug  harbours 
count  for  much  when  cruising  in  the  true 
spirit  of  houseboating,  and  in  the  charming, 
awkward  tubs  that  make  the  best  and  the 
most  lovable  of  houseboats. 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

So,  as  Gadabout  was  passing  Barrel  Point 
and  the  wind  was  freshening  and  the  waves 
were  slapping  her  square  bow,  we  were  think- 
ing not  unpleasantly  of  a  small  tributary 
stream  that  the  chart  indicated  just  ahead, 
and  in  which  we  should  find  quiet  anchorage. 
There  seemed  something  snug  and  cozy  about 
the  very  name  of  the  stream,  Chuckatuck.  In 
this  case  the  pale-face  has  left  undisturbed 
the  red  man's  picturesque  appellation;  and 
we  knew  that  we  should  like  —  Chuckatuck. 

Just  before  we  reached  the  creek,  two  row- 
boats  put  out  from  the  river  shore  filled  with 
boys  and  curiosity.  A  cheery  salute  was 
given  us  as  the  houseboat  passed  close  by 
the  skiffs,  and  we  thought  no  more  of  them. 
But  after  a  while  footsteps  were  heard  over- 
head and  we  found  that  we  had  a  full  cargo 
of  boys.  They  had  made  their  boats  fast  to 
Gadalwut's  stern  as  she  passed,  and  were  now 
grouped  in  some  uncertainty  on  the  upper 
deck.  A  nod  from  Nautica  put  them  at  ease, 
and  in  a  moment  they  were  scattered  all  over 
the  outside  of  the  boat,  calling  to  one  another, 
peering  into  windows,  and  asking  no  end  of 
questions. 

The  boys  proved  helpful  too.  They  were 
fisher-lads,  well  acquainted  with  those  waters, 
and  were  better  than  the  chart  in  guiding 

18 


Along  the  Shore  of  Chuckatuck   Creek 


OUR   FIRST   RUN   AND   A    COZY   HARBOUR 

us  among  the  shoals  and  into  the  channel  of 
the  creek. 

A  low  headland  prevented  our  getting  a 
good  view  up  the  stream  until  Gadabout 
swung  into  the  middle  of  it.  We  seemed  to 
be  entering  a  little  lake  bordered  by  tree- 
covered  hills.  At  the  far  end  of  the  blue 
basin  was  a  break  and  a  gleam  of  lighter 
water  to  show  that  this  was  not  really  a  lake 
but  a  stream.  There  it  made  the  last  of  its 
many  turnings  and  spread  its  waters  in  this 
beautiful  harbour  before  losing  them  in  the 
James. 

On  the  hills  to  our  right,  houses  showed 
among  the  trees,  some  with  the  ever-pleasing 
white-pillared  porticoes;  and  on  the  hills  to 
our  left  was  a  village  that  straggled  down  the 
slope  to  the  wharf  as  if  coming  to  greet  the 
strangers.  In  this  little  harbour  was  quite  a 
fleet,  mostly  fishing  craft,  and  all  bowing 
politely  on  the  swell  of  the  tide. 

There  was  such  diversity  of  opinion  among 
our  self -constituted  pilots  as  to  the  best  place 
for  us  to  drop  anchor,  that  the  Commodore 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  them  all  and  attempted 
to  run  alongside  a  schooner  to  make  inquiries. 
She  was  a  good  sized  craft,  and  it  did  not 
seem  as  if  he  could  miss  her.  He  claimed  that 
he  did  not.  He  explained  that  when  we  got 

19 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

up  there,  our  ropes  fell  short  and  we  drifted 
helplessly  past  because  the  blundering  cap- 
tain of  the  schooner  had  anchored  her  too  far 
away  from  us. 

Kindly  overlooking  this  error  of  a  fellow 
navigator,  the  Commodore  patiently  spent 
considerable  of  the  beautiful  summer  evening 
in  getting  Gadabout  turned  around;  and 
then  again  bore  down  upon  the  schooner. 
This  time  her  being  in  the  wrong  place  did 
not  seem  to  matter;  for  we  reached  her  all 
right,  and  there  probably  was  no  place  along 
that  side  where  we  did  not  remove  more  or 
less  paint.  The  captain  of  the  schooner  gave 
us  the  needed  information  about  the  harbour; 
our  lines  were  cast  off,  and  the  houseboat  was 
soon  anchored  in  a  snug  berth  for  the  night. 

Then,  sitting  upon  our  canopied  upper 
deck,  enjoying  the  last  of  our  city  melons 
cooled  with  the  last  of  our  city  ice,  we  looked 
out  over  what  we  supposed  was  but  the  first 
of  many  such  beautiful  creek-harbour  scenes 
to  be  found  along  the  river.  We  did  not 
know  that  there  was  to  be  no  other  like 
Chuckatuck. 

After  a  while,  a  small  steamer  came  in 
from  the  James,  a  boat  plying  regularly  be- 
tween Norfolk  and  landings  along  this  creek. 

It  was  just  the  kind  of  steamer,  any  one 
20 


OUR   FIRST   RUN   AND   A   COZY   HARBOUR 

would  say,  to  be  running  on  the  Chuckatuck 
—  a  fat,  wheezy  side -wheeler  that  came  up 
to  its  landing  near  us  with  three  hearty  whis- 
tles and  such  a  jovial  puffing  as  seemed  to 
say,  "  Now,  I'm  certainly  mighty  glad  to  get 
back  again  to  you  all."  Just  the  sort  of 
steamer  that  wouldn't  mind  a  bit  if  the  pretty 
girls  were  "  a  right  smart  time  "  kissing  good- 
bye; or  if  the  Colonel  had  to  finish  his  best 
story;  or  if  old  Maria  had  to  "  study  a  spell  " 
because  she  had  "  done  forgot "  what  Miss 
Clarissa  wanted  the  steward  to  bring  from 
the  city  next  day. 

As  the  sun  sank  behind  the  hills  (or  rather 
some  time  after,  for  we  never  could  be  nau- 
tically  prompt) ,  our  flags  were  run  down  and 
the  anchor-light  was  hoisted  on  the  forward 
flagstaff. 

The  summer  night  closed  in  softly;  the 
blue  waters  grew  dark,  and  caught  from  the 
sky  the  rich  lights  that  the  setting  sun  had 
left  behind.  We  could  see  figures  sitting 
upon  the  white  porticoes  looking  out  over  the 
miniature  harbour.  Somewhere  were  the 
music  of  a  merry-go-round  and  the  calls  and 
laughter  of  children.  In  from  the  wider 
waters  came  more  boats,  their  white  sails  fold- 
ing down  as  they  neared  their  haven.  All 
the  beautiful  mysteiy  of  the  deepening  twi- 

21 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

light  touched  water  and  masts,  and  shadowed 
the  circling  shore. 

Then  came  the  long  hours  of  darkness 
when,  with  all  aboard  asleep,  Gadabout  lay 
quietly  at  anchor,  the  riding-light  upon  her 
flagstaff  gently  swaying  throughout  the  night. 
Silently,  with  none  to  heed  and  none  to  know, 
wras  enacted  again  in  the  gloom  the  play  that 
is  as  old  as  the  first  ship  upon  tideway.  With 
bow  turned  up-stream,  Gadabout  sank  slowly 
lower  and  lower,  as  even  little  Chuckatuck 
heard  the  voice  of  the  far-away  ocean  calling 
its  waters  home.  Then,  crossing  slowly  over 
her  anchor  and  turning  to  head  the  other  way, 
Gadabout  rose  once  more  higher  and  higher, 
as  the  night  wore  on  and  as  the  great  recur- 
ring swell  rolled  landward  again  the  waters 
of  the  sea. 


22 


CHAPTER    III 

LAND,  HO!  OUR  COUNTRY'S  BIRTHPLACE 

WHEN  we  hoisted  our  anchor  next  day,  it 
came  up  reluctantly;  and  we  sailed  away 
with  faces  often  turned  backward  toward  the 
little  harbour  of  Chuckatuck,  with  its  blue  of 
wave  and  sky,  its  white  of  cloud  and  beach, 
its  green  of  circling  hills,  and  the  picturesque 
life  on  its  waters. 

Out  again  in  the  James  (still  some  four 
miles  wide),  we  felt  that  Nature  had  almost 
overdone  the  matter  of  supplying  us  with 
a  waterway  for  our  voyage.  We  should  will- 
ingly have  dispensed  with  a  mile  or  so  on 
either  side  of  our  houseboat.  There  was  a 
wind  that  kept  steadily  freshening,  so  that 
after  rounding  Day's  Point  we  noticed  that 
the  river  was  getting  rather  rough;  and  we 
soon  found  that  Gadabout  was  equally  ob- 
serving. She  rolled  and  pitched;  but  with 
both  engines  and  the  tide  to  help  her  along 
she  made  good  enough  headway. 

And  in  navigating  the  broad  stream  what 
23 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

advantages  we  had  over  those  early  mariners 
upon  the  Sarah  Constant,  the  Goodspeed,  and 
the  Discovery! 

Their  passage  up  this  river  was  upon  un- 
known waters  through  an  unknown  land. 
We  knew  just  where  we  were,  and  where  we 
were  going.  They  even  fancied  that  they 
might  be  upon  an  arm  of  the  ocean  that 
would  lead  through  the  new-found  world  and 
open  a  direct  route  to  the  South  Sea  and  to 
the  Indies.  Our  maps  showed  us  that  even 
this  wide  waterway  was  but  a  river;  and  that 
while  it  flowed  some  four  hundred  miles  from 
its  source  beyond  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains, 
yet  we  could  ascend  it  only  about  one  hun- 
dred miles,  as  we  should  then  come  upon  a 
line  of  falls  and  rapids  that  would  prevent 
farther  navigation. 

In  the  case  of  those  early  voyagers,  sav- 
ages lurked  along  the  wooded  shores  and 
greater  dangers  lay  in  the  unknown,  treach- 
erous currents  and  hidden  bars  of  the  stream 
itself.  We  should  have  to  imagine  all  our 
savages;  and  there,  on  the  table  in  Gad- 
about's little  cockpit,  close  to  the  man  (or, 
quite  as  likely,  the  woman)  at  the  wheel,  lay 
charts  that  told  the  hidden  features  of  the 
river  highway. 

Quaint  old-time  Sarah  and  her  sister  ships 
24 


LAND,    HO!    OUR   COUNTRY'S   BIRTHPLACE 

could  not  have  sailed  up  this  waterway  very 
far  before  finding  navigation  difficult.  Even 
small  as  they  were,  they  must  often  have 
found  scant  water  if  the  James  of  that  time, 
like  the  James  of  to-day,  had  its  top  and 
bottom  so  close  together  every  here  and  there. 
A  majestic  river  several  miles  wide,  often 
fifty  to  seventy-five  feet  deep,  yet  barred  by 
such  tangles  of  shoals  as  one  would  not  ex- 
pect to  find  in  a  respectable  creek.  And 
shoals  too  that  the  colour  of  the  water  hides 
from  the  keenest  eyes. 

To  be  sure,  for  us  it  was  all  plain  sailing. 
The  charts  told  where  the  shoals  were  and 
how  to  avoid  them.  Our  chief  danger  lay 
in  presuming  too  much  upon  our  light  draft 
and  in  venturing  too  far  from  the  indicated 
channels.  But  how  about  those  deeper-draft, 
chartless  sailing  craft?  Well,  they  managed 
to  get  along  anyway,  and  our  houseboat  must 
on  after  them. 

One  more  straight  reach  of  the  river,  one 
more  great  sweeping  bend,  and  we  should 
come  upon  the  site  of  that  old  village  of 
James  Towne.  Still  the  tawny  Powhatan, 
like  many  another  proud  savage,  showed 
small  sign  of  succumbing  to  civilization. 
There  seemed  scarce  any  mark  of  human 
habitation.  The  life  of  the  people,  where 

25 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

there  were  people,  must  have  been  back  from 
the  banks.  The  river  itself  was  empty.  No- 
where was  there  wreath  of  smoke  or  shim- 
mer of  sail.  Just  the  wild  beauty  of  the 
shores,  the  noble  expanse  of  the  stream,  the 
cloudless  blue  of  the  summer  sky,  and  Gad- 
about. 

Yet,  we  were  not  seeing  quite  the  James 
that  those  first  English  eyes  beheld.  For 
them  the  slopes  and  headlands  were  covered 
with  far  nobler  forests  and  Nature  wore  her 
May-time  gown.  Life  and  colour  were  every- 
where. In  the  clear  atmosphere  of  the  Vir- 
ginia spring,  the  woodland  was  a  wealth  of 
living  green  radiantly  starred  with  flowers. 
What  a  Canaan  those  weaiy,  storm-tossed 
colonists  must  have  thought  it  all! 

We  can  well  imagine  the  little  family 
groups  gathered  on  the  decks,  eagerly  plan- 
ning for  their  new  life.  We  can  see  the 
brightening  in  the  tired  eyes  of  women  and 
of  children  as  the  ships  tack  near  to  the  flow- 
ery shore;  as  schools  of  fish  break  the  river 
into  patches  of  flashing  silver;  as  strange, 
brilliant  birds  go  flaming  in  the  sunlight;  as 
beauty  is  added  to  beauty  in  this  wondrous 
new  home-land. 

No!  We  blunder  in  our  history.  There 
were  no  women  and  children  on  the  Sarah 

26 


LAND,    HO!    OUR    COUNTRY'S    BIRTHPLACE 

Constant,  nor  on  the  Goodspeed,  nor  on  the 
Discovery.  The  story  of  these  ships  is  not 
like  that  later  one  of  the  Mayflower.  The 
colour  dies  out  of  the  picture;  and  there 
remains  only  the  worn,  motley  band  of  men 
-men  who  have  taken  possession  of  the 
country  by  the  sign  of  the  cross,  fit  omen  of 
the  fate  awaiting  them. 

At  last  our  houseboat  came  about  the  bend 
in  the  river  and  before  us  along  the  northern 
shore  lay  Jamestown  Island,  the  site  of  old 
James  Towne.  We  could  make  out  little  yet 
but  the  low  wooded  shore  and  the  wide  open- 
ing that  we  knew  was  the  mouth  of  Back 
River,  the  waterway  that  cuts  off  from  the 
mainland  that  storied  piece  of  soil.  Now 
Gadabout's  steering-wheel  was  counting 
spokes  to  starboard;  she  headed  diagonally 
up  the  river  toward  the  northern  shore,  and 
we  were  soon  nearing  the  historic  island. 

So,  here  was  where  those  three  little  ships 
that  we  had  been  following  at  the  respectful 
distance  of  three  centuries,  terminated  their 
voyage;  here  was  where  that  handful  of  col- 
onists founded  the  first  permanent  English 
settlement  in  the  New  World;  here  was  the 
cradle  of  our  country. 

However,  the  place  in  those  old  days  was 
not  exactly  an  island,  although  even  the  early 

27 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

colonists  often  called  it  so.  There  was  a  low 
isthmus  (that  has  since  been  washed  away) 
connecting  with  the  mainland;  so  that  the 
site  of  the  settlement  was  in  reality  a  penin- 
sula. It  was  a  low  and  marshy  peninsula, 
an  unhealthful  place  for  the  site  of  a  colony. 
The  settlers  had  a  hard  time  from  the  begin- 
ning. They  would  have  had  a  harder  time 
but  for  the  presence  of  a  remarkable  man 
among  them.  He  was  one  of  the  best  of  men, 
or  he  was  one  of  the  worst  —  dependent  upon 
which  history  you  happen  to  pick  up.  At  all 
events,  he  was  the  man  for  the  hour.  But 
for  him  the  colony  would  have  perished  at 
the  outset.  This  man  of  course  was  the 
schoolboy's  hero,  Captain  John  Smith. 

The  chief  hardships  of  the  colonists  at  first 
were  scarcity  of  food  and  frequent  Indian 
attacks.  To  these  were  soon  added  a  malarial 
epidemic  caused  by  the  unhealthful  surround- 
ings. As  if  there  were  yet  not  suffering 
enough,  the  "  Supplies  "  (the  ships  that  came 
over  with  reinforcements  and  food)  brought 
bubonic  plague  and  cholera  from  English 
ports.  Often,  if  they  had  touched  at  the 
West  Indies,  they  brought  yellow  fever  too. 
The  sufferings  in  that  little  pioneer  settle- 
ment of  our  country  have  scarcely  been 
equalled  in  modern  colonization. 

28 


LAND,    HO!    OUR   COUNTRY'S    BIRTHPLACE 

Time  went  on;  and  the  population  waxed 
and  waned  as  reinforcements  built  it  up  and 
as  the  terrible  mortality  cut  it  do\vn  again. 
All  the  while  there  seemed  no  outcome  to  the 
struggle.  James  Towne  had  in  it  not  even 
the  promise  of  a  successful  colony.  The  set- 
tlers did  not  find  the  gold  and  precious  stones 
that  were  expected,  nor  did  they  find  or  pro- 
duce in  quantities  any  valuable  commodities. 
They  were  not  even  self-supporting.  The 
colony  held  on  because  constantly  fed  with 
men  and  provisions  by  the  "  Supplies." 
There  was  dissatisfaction  in  London;  in 
James  Towne  misery  and  often  despair.  The 
climax  of  disappointment  and  suffering  was 
reached  in  the  spring  of  1610,  ever  since 
known  as  the  "  Starving  Time."  In  that  sea- 
son of  horror,  the  settlement  almost  passed 
out  of  existence. 

After  that  matters  improved,  and  chiefly 
because  of  a  single  development:  James 
Towne  learned  to  grow  tobacco;  Europe 
learned  to  use  it.  From  that  time  the  place 
took  on  new  life  and  made  great  strides 
toward  becoming  self-supporting.  More  and 
better  settlers  arrived,  and  the  colony  even 
put  out  offshoots,  so  that  soon  there  were  sev- 
eral settlements  up  and  down  the  river  and 
upon  other  rivers.  And  of  all,  James  Towne 

29 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

was  the  seat  of  government,  the  proud  little 
capital  of  the  Colony  of  Virginia. 

But  trouble  was  still  in  store  for  this  pio- 
neer village,  and  this  time  final  disaster.  The 
very  cause  of  prosperity  became  the  chief 
cause  of  downfall.  Tobacco  and  towns  could 
not  long  flourish  together.  The  famous  weed 
rapidly  exhausted  the  soil,  and  there  was 
constant  need  for  new  lands  to  clear  and  cul- 
tivate. The  leading  Virginians  turned  their 
backs  upon  James  Towne  and  upon  the  other 
struggling  settlements  too,  and  established 
vast  individual  estates  along  the  river  to 
which  they  drew  the  body  of  the  people. 

To  be  sure  there  still  had  to  be  some  place 
as  the  seat  of  government;  and  in  that  capac- 
ity the  village  hung  on  a  good  while  longer, 
though  with  few  inhabitants  aside  from  co- 
lonial officials  and  some  tavern-keepers.  It 
was  not  to  be  allowed  to  keep  even  these. 
Despite  every  effort  to  force  the  growth  of 
the  town,  it  dwindled;  and  in  1699  it  re- 
ceived its  deathblow  upon  the  removal  of  the 
seat  of  government  to  Williamsburg. 

The  rest  is  a  matter  of  a  few  words.  The 
pioneer  village  was  gradually  abandoned  and 
fell  to  ruins.  As  though  natural  decay  could 
not  tear  down  and  bury  fast  enough,  the 
greedy  river  came  to  its  aid.  Besides  eating 

30 


LAND,   HO!    OUR   COUNTRY'S   BIRTHPLACE 

away  the  ancient  isthmus,  the  James  attacked 
the  upper  end  of  the  island,  devouring  part 
of  the  site  of  the  old-time  settlement.  Be- 
tween decay  and  the  river,  James  Towne,  the 
birthplace  of  our  country,  vanished  from  the 
face  of  the  earth. 


31 


CHAPTER   IV 

A   RUN   AROUND   JAMESTOWN    ISLAND 

Now  Gadabout,  her  engines  slowed  down, 
drifted  almost  unguided  among  the  shallows 
beside  Jamestown  Island;  for  our  eyes  were 
only  for  that  close-lying  shore  and  our 
thoughts  for  what  it  had  to  tell  us. 

The  end  of  the  island  toward  us  was  well 
wooded  though  fringed  with  marsh.  All  of 
it  that  could  be  seen  was  just  as  we  would 
have  it  —  without  a  mark  of  civilization;  wild, 
lonely,  and  still.  In  keeping  with  the  whole 
sad  story  seemed  the  gloom  of  the  forest,  the 
loneness  of  the  marsh,  and  the  surge  of  the 
waves  upon  the  desolate  shore. 

When  we  took  Gadabout  in  hand  again,  we 
did  not  keep  along  the  front  of  the  island  to 
where  the  colonists  "  tied  their  ships  to  the 
trees"  and  made  their  landing;  but,  instead, 
we  turned  from  the  James  and  ran  up  Back 
River  in  behind  the  island.  Our  plan  was 
to  sail  up  this  stream  to  a  point  where  the 
chart  showed  a  roadway  and  a  bridge,  and  to 
tie  up  the  houseboat  there.  That  would  be 


Jamestown   Island  from   the  liiver 


convenient  for  us  and  for  Gadabout  too.  The 
roadway  we  should  use  in  crossing  the  island 
to  visit  the  chief  points  of  interest,  which  were 
on  the  James  River  side;  and  Gadabout 
would  have  a  more  protected  harbour  than 
could  be  found  for  her  in  front. 

Though  nothing  serious  came  of  the  mat- 
ter, we  were  not  taking  a  good  time  to  run 
up  the  little  stream  behind  Jamestown  Island, 
as  the  tide  had  long  since  turned  and  we  were 
going  in  on  a  falling  tide.  We  did  not  relish 
the  idea  of  running  aground  perhaps,  and  of 
having  the  ebbing  waters  leave  our  craft  to 
settle  and  wreck  herself  upon  some  hidden 
obstruction.  So  Gadabout  took  plenty  of 
time  to  run  up  Back  River,  feeling  her  way 
cautiously  with  a  sounding-pole,  like  some  fat 
old  lady  with  a  walking-stick. 

There  must  once  have  been  a  better  chan- 
nel here;  for  in  the  early  days  of  the  colony, 
vessels  did  not  always  land  at  the  front  of 
the  island,  but  sometimes  ran  up  Back  River 
as  our  houseboat  was  now  doing.  Indeed, 
we  were  expecting  to  come  soon  to  the  wooded 
rise  of  land  once  called  "  Pyping  Point," 
where  of  old  a  boat  in  passing  would  sound 
"  a  musical  note  "  to  apprise  the  townspeople 
of  its  coming.  And  but  a  little  way  beyond 
that  again,  near  the  present-day  bridge  where 

33 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

we  expected  to  stop,  we  should  find  the  site 
of  the  ancient  landing-place  which  was  called 
"  Friggett  Landing." 

As  Gadabout  slowly  moved  along,  she  oc- 
casionally got  out  of  the  channel  into  the 
shallows,  in  spite  of  chart  and  sounding-pole; 
and  more  than  once  she  struck  bottom.  But 
she  always  discovered  the  channel  and  scrab- 
bled back  into  it  before  the  soft  mud,  even 
aided  by  the  falling  tide,  could  get  a  good 
hold  of  her.  No,  not  quite  always  was  she 
so  fortunate.  For  at  last,  in  following  a  turn 
of  the  channel  toward  the  island,  she  went 
too  far;  her  stern  swung  about  and  grounded 
in  the  shallows;  her  propeller  clogged  in  the 
mud,  and  she  came  to  a  stop. 

We  accepted  that  stop  as  final.  No  at- 
tempt was  made  to  put  out  a  kedge  anchor 
and  to  "  haul  off "  with  the  windlass.  We 
simply  walked  around  the  houseboat  on  the 
guard  taking  soundings.  Finding  that  the 
boat  was  settling  upon  fairly  level  bottom, 
and  feeling  that  the  farther  she  went  the 
worse  she  would  fare,  we  took  our  chances 
as  to  what  might  be  under  her  and  made  no 
further  effort. 

Nautica  had  a  good  motto,  which  was, 
"  When  in  trouble,  eat."  So  the  next  thing 
was  dinner.  Then  Nautica  and  the  Commo- 

34 


IX    BACK    K1VKR. 


THE    BEACH    AT    JAMESTOWN    ISLAND. 


A   RUN   AROUND    JAMESTOWN    ISLAND 

dore  embarked  in  a  shore-boat  on  a  voyage 
of  discovery,  a  search  for  the  lost  channel. 
By  this  time  the  water  was  but  a  few  inches 
deep  around  the  houseboat.  Evidently,  the 
explorers  would  not  dare  to  go  far  or  to  be 
gone  long  for  fear  the  ebbing  tide  would 
prevent  their  getting  back.  But  it  was  not 
necessary  to  go  far  to  find  the  channel.  In- 
deed it  was  found  unpleasantly  near.  The 
houseboat  had  stranded  on  a  safe,  level  shoal, 
but  almost  on  the  edge  of  a  steep  declivity 
leading  down  into  twelve  feet  of  water.  We 
felt  that  if  Gadabout  had  to  go  aground,  she 
at  least  might  have  done  it  a  little  farther 
away  from  precipitous  channel  banks. 

Sitting  on  the  upper  deck,  we  talked  and 
read,  and  watched  the  water  slowly  drawing 
away  from  our  houseboat  until  all  about  us 
was  bare  ground;  to  starboard  a  narrow  strip 
of  it  between  us  and  the  channel,  and  to  port 
a  wide  stretch  of  it  between  us  and  the  shore. 

We  thought  most  and  talked  most  of  the 
historic  island  on  the  edge  of  which  we  had 
become  squatters.  It  was  a  small  stage  for 
the  world-shaping  drama  that  had  been  en- 
acted upon  it. 

Toward  evening  the  tide  turned  again  and 
the  truant  waters  came  back,  lapping  once 
more  the  sides  of  our  boat.  The  Commodore 

35 


VIRGINIA.  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

had  to  see  that  anchors  were  run  ahead  and 
astern,  and  all  made  snug  for  the  night. 
Then,  in  the  enjoyment  of  one  of  the  most 
charming  features  of  houseboating,  an  eve- 
ning meal  served  on  the  upper  deck,  we 
watched  the  sun  dip  down  behind  the  island 
and  the  twilight  shadows  gather  in. 

Still  about  us  was  no  sight  or  sound  of 
human  life.  The  shadows  deepened  and  dark- 
ness came.  Then  gradually  a  faint  silvery 
light  stole  over  water  and  marsh  and  wooded 
shore;  and  the  stillness  was  broken  by  a  burst 
of  faint,  high,  tremulous  tones,  as  though  a 
host  of  unseen  hands  swept  tiny  invisible 
mandolins.  The  silvery  light  came  from  the 
rising  moon;  the  rest  was  just  mosquitoes. 

Next  day,  as  soon  as  Gadabout  was  afloat, 
she  started  up  stream  again  to  find  the  bridge 
and  a  landing-place.  There  was  no  trouble 
about  the  channel  this  time.  The  waterway, 
as  if  taking  pity  upon  indifferent  navigators, 
suddenly  contracted  to  a  very  narrow  stream, 
deep  almost  from  bank  to  bank,  so  that  we 
could  not  well  have  got  out  of  the  channel 
if  we  had  tried.  In  such  a  place,  we  were 
stout-hearted  mariners  and  the  good  house- 
boat stemmed  the  waters  gallantly.  Already 
we  were  thinking  of  how  we  too,  in  passing 
"  Pyping  Point,"  should  sound  a  blast  most 

36 


A   RUN   AROUND    JAMESTOWN   ISLAND 

lustily.  Perhaps  it  would  not  be  exactly  a 
"  musical  note  "  such  as  the  townspeople  were 
used  to;  but  being  two  or  three  centuries 
dead,  they  probably  would  not  notice  the  dif- 
ference. However,  we  did  not  subject  them 
to  the  experiment.  Instead,  we  suddenly 
reversed  our  engine;  Gadabout  tried  to  stop 
in  time;  the  ladies  tried  to  look  pleasant;  the 
Commodore  tried  to  shun  over-expressive 
speech.  There,  just  ahead,  was  a  row  of 
close-set  pilings,  blocking  the  stream  from 
shore  to  shore. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  turn  back, 
run  around  the  island,  and  attempt  to  get 
in  behind  it  at  the  other  end.  We  probably 
should  have  tried  the  upper  entrance  in  the 
first  place  had  it  not  been  that  our  chart 
showed  by  dotted  lines  some  sort  of  obstruc- 
tion there,  while  it  did  not  at  all  indicate  the 
barrier  we  had  just  encountered.  Fortu- 
nately, as  the  tide  was  now  rising  and  as 
we  had  got  some  knowledge  of  the  channel, 
Gadabout  made  good  progress  in  returning 
down  the  stream,  and  was  soon  out  in  the 
wide  James  again,  sailing  along  the  front  of 
the  island. 

As  we  proceeded,  the  marshes  gave  way  to 
a  bank  of  good  height  edged  with  a  gravel 
beach.  Buildings  were  now  in  sight,  and 

37 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

horses  and  cattle  grazing.  We  passed  a  pier 
with  a  warehouse  on  it,  bearing  a  sign  which 
read,  "  Jamestown  Island,  Site  of  the  First 
Permanent  English  Settlement  in  America, 
1607." 

Now,  a  glimpse  could  be  had  of  a  relic  of 
old  James  Towne,  the  ruined  church  tower, 
deep-set  among  the  trees.  Could  our  eyes 
have  pierced  the  water  under  us,  we  might 
have  seen  more  of  the  ruins  of  the  ancient 
village.  For  Gadabout  was  holding  in  quite 
close  to  shore  where  no  vessel  could  have  gone 
in  James  Towne  days,  as  the  place  was  then 
solid  land  and  a  part  of  the  settlement.  Now, 
that  part  lay  buried  at  the  bottom  of  the 
river,  and  our  boat  was  passing  over  it. 

Coasting  around  the  end  of  the  island,  we 
came  upon  a  tree  standing  out  in  the  water 
a  hundred  yards  from  shore.  It  was  the  fa- 
mous "  Lone  Cypress,"  once  growing  on  the 
island,  now  spreading  its  green  branches  in 
the  midst  of  a  watery  waste  —  silently  attest- 
ing the  sacrifice  of  historic  soil  to  the  greedy 
river.  A  little  way  beyond  the  tree  was  what 
we  were  seeking,  the  upper  entrance  into  the 
waterway  behind  the  island. 

In  the  days  of  the  old  settlement,  there 
was  no  such  entrance  at  this  end;  for  here 
the  narrow  isthmus  extended  across,  connect- 

38 


• 

4 


A   RUN   AROUND    JAMESTOWN   ISLAND 

ing  with  the  mainland.  But  the  same  resist- 
less wash  of  waves  that  had  carried  part  of 
James  Towne  into  the  bed  of  the  river,  had 
broken  down  and  submerged  the  isthmus  too; 
and  our  chart  showed  that  there  was  water 
enough  for  our  houseboat  to  sail  over  where 
the  colonists  used  to  walk  dry-shod. 

As  to  the  obstruction  we  had  seen  indicated 
on  the  chart,  that  proved  to  be  the  ruins  of 
an  old  bridge  extending  out  from  the  main- 
land along  the  submerged  isthmus.  But  the 
island  end  of  it  had  been  carried  away,  and 
we  readily  passed  through  the  opening  left 
and  got  again  into  Back  River  behind  the 
island.  Following  this  for  a  few  hundred 
yards,  we  found  ourselves  at  last  beside  the 
bridge  we  long  had  sought.  Standing  on  the 
upper  deck,  we  could  look  down  stream  to 
the  place  where  our  houseboat  had  been 
stopped  by  the  row  of  pilings.  We  had  prac- 
tically circumnavigated  the  island. 

While  making  Gadabout  fast  to  some  con- 
venient pilings,  we  heard  gay  voices  and  the 
rumble  of  wheels  on  the  bridge. 

"  Look !     Look ! "  cried  one  of  a  carriage- 
full     of     hatless     girls     in     white     muslins. 
'  There's   a  houseboat.     How  in  the  world 
did  it  get  in  here  ?  " 

And  we  rather  wondered  ourselves. 
39 


CHAPTER    V 

FANCIES   AFLOAT   AND    RUINS   ASHORE 

IT  was  midday  when  we  tied  Gadabout 
to  the  pilings  beside  the  bridge,  and  the 
weather  was  hot  and  sultry.  So,  we  deferred 
until  evening  the  long  walk  across  the  island. 
But  already,  sitting  under  our  own  awning, 
we  were  in  the  thick  of  historic  association. 

Where  our  houseboat  lay,  the  early  col- 
onists used  to  find  haven  for  their  vessels, 
"  lashed  to  one  another  and  moor'd  a  shore 
secure  from  all  Wind  and  Weather  What- 
soever." As  they  found  Back  River  at  this 
point  so  we  found  it,  a  stream  without  banks; 
instead,  on  either  hand  stretched  lonely 
marshes,  jungles  of  reeds  and  rushes,  now 
as  then  more  than  man  high. 

But  our  thoughts,  busy  with  scenes  two 
or  three  centuries  gone,  kept  stumbling  over 
two  features  of  the  landscape  that  were  out 
of  keeping  with  those  old  times.  Back  of 
us,  where  an  isthmus  should  be  stretching 
from  island  to  mainland,  was  the  open  water 

40 


FANCIES   AFLOAT   AND   RUINS   ASHORE 

gateway  through  which  we  had  come;  and 
in  front  of  us,  where  there  should  be  nothing 
but  river  and  marsh,  that  modern  bridge 
reached  from  shore  to  shore. 

Our  quickened  fancy  made  short  work  of 
such  anachronisms.  We  promptly  raised  the 
submerged  isthmus,  tying  the  island  to  the 
mainland  once  more.  Then  we  attacked  the 
bridge;  and,  as  the  pilings  to  which  our  boat 
was  fastened  did  not  have  any  connection 
with  that  structure,  we  felt  no  misgivings  as 
the  troublesome  modernism  faded  away. 

The  bridge  disposed  of,  we  bethought  us 
that  the  road  with  which  it  had  connected  was 
also  a  latter-day  feature.  To  be  sure,  our 
maps  showed  us  that  in  colonial  times  too 
a  road  had  crossed  the  island,  and  along  much 
the  same  lines;  but  it  had  come  out  a  little 
farther  down  Back  River,  at  the  point  al- 
ready referred  to  as  "  Friggett  Landing." 

To  put  the  roadway  right,  then,  we  had 
first  to  locate  the  site  of  the  old  landing. 
And  in  this  important  matter  what  pains- 
taking archeologists  we  were!  Not  by  guess- 
work, but  by  a  long  string,  did  we  locate 
"  Friggett  Landing."  After  reading  all  that 
our  authorities  had  to  say  on  the  subject  (and 
understanding  part  of  it),  we  sent  our  man 
down  stream  in  a  rowboat,  confident  that  he 

41 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

would  find  the  landing  at  the  end  of  the 
measured  string.  When  the  string  ran  out, 
the  rowboat  was  opposite  a  point  on  the 
marshy  edge  of  the  island  about  one  hundred 
feet  below  the  present-day  road. 

The  correctness  of  our  work  was  at  once 
evident.  All  the  indications  pointed  to  that; 
for  the  place  showed  not  the  slightest  sign 
of  ever  having  been  used  as  a  landing-place 
—  which  is  just  what  you  would  expect  after 
the  lapse  of  two  or  three  centuries. 

After  that,  it  was  but  the  work  of  a  mo- 
ment to  crook  the  end  of  the  modern  road, 
where  it  approached  the  river  through  a  bit 
of  elevated  woodland  (the  only  piece  of  solid 
land  anywhere  near  us),  and  so  make  it  come 
out,  like  the  road  of  old,  at  the  "  landing." 

Now,  our  man  held  aloft  a  stick  with  the 
houseboat's  burgee  on  it,  and  a  photograph 
was  taken  that  \ve  might  not  forget  where 
our  diverted  road  came  out  and  where  to  go 
to  meet  the  "  friggetts  "  that  might  be  com- 
ing in  almost  any  time. 

Our  trifling  bits  of  restoration  made  all 
satisfactory:  an  isthmus  more,  a  bridge  less, 
a  crook  in  the  end  of  a  road  —  and  the  scene 
went  back,  as  our  thoughts  went  back,  to  those 
old  James  Towne  days.  To  be  sure,  the  vil- 
lage itself  was  still  clear  across  the  island  on 

42 


FANCIES   AFLOAT   AND   RUINS   ASHORE 

the  "  Maine  River "  side,  and  we  could  not 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  colonists  in  their  little 
streets  nor  even  of  the  English  colours  flying 
over  the  fort. 

However,  there  was  enough  taking  place 
on  our  own  side  of  the  island.  We  had  no 
sooner  got  the  isthmus  up  out  of  the  water 
than  figures  began  to  move  across  it.  But 
such  figures!  Was  there  a  mistake  some- 
where? These  were  not  Englishmen,  and 
they  were  not  Indians.  Behold,  crossing  our 
isthmus,  Dutchmen,  Italians,  and  Poles!  Sud- 
denly, from  the  midst  of  the  group,  came  a 
glint  and  a  flash  of  blue.  Then  we  under- 
stood. These  were  the  "  skilful  workmen 
from  foreign  parts  "  early  sent  over  to  the 
colony  to  make  glass  beads,  preferably  blue 
ones,  for  barter  with  the  Indians. 

Now,  there  were  only  two  people  on  our 
isthmus  —  an  Indian  and  a  red-headed  man. 
The  Indian  was  tall  and  "  a  most  strong 
stout  Salvage";  the  red-headed  man  was 
short  but  a  most  strong,  stout  Englishman. 
The  Indian  was  Wowinchopunk,  chief  of  the 
Paspaheghs;  the  red-headed  man  was  Cap- 
tain John  Smith.  A  desperate  hand-to-hand 
struggle  ensued.  We  remembered  that  fight 
in  the  school-books,  but  we  had  never  ex- 
pected to  really  see  it.  Our  sympathies  were 

43 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

of  course  largely  with  the  Captain,  but  more 
with  the  isthmus.  We  had  raised  it  out  of 
the  water  for  temporary  purposes  only,  and 
with  no  idea  of  its  being  subjected  to  a  strain 
like  this.  It  was  a  relief  when  the  two  fight- 
ers rolled  off  into  the  water.  By  the  time  they 
had  struggled  out  again,  the  white  man  was 
victor.  As  dripping  captor  and  captive  set 
off  toward  James  Towne,  we  saw  Fame  stick 
another  laurel  leaf  in  the  wet,  red  hair  in 
commemoration  of  the  single  combat  in  which 
Captain  John  Smith  defeated  the  "  strong, 
stout  Salvage,"  Wowinchopunk,  on  the  James 
Towne  isthmus. 

For  a  while  after  that,  nothing  much  hap- 
pened over  our  way.  Indians  occasionally 
passed  and  repassed;  now  striding  openly 
across  to  the  island  on  friendly  visit,  now 
skulking  over  to  pick  off  unwary  settlers. 
Once  we  caught,  in  a  hazy  way,  the  most 
touching  picture  associated  with  the  old  isth- 
mus —  the  little  savage  maiden,  Pocahontas, 
with  heart  divided  between  her  own  people 
and  the  pale-faces,  crossing  over  at  the  head 
of  her  train  of  Indians  bearing  venison  and 
corn  for  the  half-famished  settlers.  Pathetic 
little  figure!  Often  all  that  seemed  to  stand 
between  the  colonists  and  destruction. 

It  was  the  sound  of  voices  that  now  made 
44 


FANCIES   AFLOAT   AND   RUINS   ASHORE 

us  turn  and  look  the  other  way.  Many  peo- 
ple were  following  the  crook  in  our  road, 
passing  through  the  bit  of  woodland  and 
coming  out  at  "  Friggett  Landing."  We 
had  heard  no  "  musical  note,"  but  evidently 
the  townspeople  had;  and  there,  surely 
enough,  was  a  queer  little  vessel  stopping 
right  where  we  had  marked  the  spot.  It  was 
a  pleasure  to  see  that  she  so  readily  took  our 
measurements  for  it.  But  how  she  got  there 
perplexed  us  not  a  little,  as  we  remembered 
the  row  of  pilings  across  the  stream  that  had 
stopped  the  houseboat,  and  which,  even  in  our 
ardour  to  restore  the  colonial  setting,  we  had 
not  once  thought  to  remove. 

Back  and  forth  across  our  isthmus  played 
the  old-time  life  of  the  colony.  Rather  som- 
bre figures  for  a  while,  and  all  afoot.  Then 
colour  came,  and  colour  on  horseback  too. 
They  were  seeing  more  prosperous  times  in 
the  little  village  across  the  island.  Prancing 
by  went  the  "  qualitye  "  in  flaming  silks,  and 
high  dignitaries  in  glittering  gold  lace. 
There  was  even  a  coach  or  two.  That  one 
attended  by  soldiers  in  queer  "  coats  of  mail " 
must  belong  to  Sir  William  Berkeley,  gov- 
ernor of  the  colony.  However,  we  watched 
and  waited  long  before  anything  of  impor- 
tance happened  —  probably  several  years. 

45 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

But  time  does  not  count  for  much  in  house- 
boating. 

At  last,  some  soldiers  marched  across  the 
island  from  the  James  Towne  side  to  ours, 
and  built  a  fort  near  the  isthmus.  Some  more 
soldiers  appeared  on  the  mainland  and  began 
to  build  a  fort  on  their  side,  near  the  isthmus. 
Then  we  knew  that  James  Towne  was  seeing 
its  most  stirring  days.  Stubborn  old  Gov- 
ernor Berkeley  and  hot-headed  young  Na- 
thaniel Bacon  had  fallen  out  over  the  Indian 
question.  The  people  were  divided;  and 
here  were  the  preparations  for  the  trial  of 
arms.  While  the  Bacon  fort,  the  one  on  the 
mainland,  was  yet  incomplete,  we  beheld  a 
strange  line  of  white  objects  fluttering  from 
the  top  of  it.  With  the  aid  of  field-glasses 
and  some  historical  works,  we  at  last  made 
out  that  it  was  a  row  of  women  in  white 
aprons.  As  our  eyes  became  accustomed  to 
the  trying  perspective  of  over  two  hundred 
years,  we  were  able  to  recognize  the  charming 
wives  of  some  of  the  most  prominent  men  in 
the  other  fort.  The  ungallant  Bacon  had  sent 
out  and  captured  these  excellent  ladies,  and 
now  placed  them  in  plain  sight  of  their  hus- 
bands, thus  preventing  the  other  fort  from 
opening  fire  upon  him  until  he  had  his  forti- 
fication completed. 

46 


FANCIES   AFLOAT   AND   RUINS   ASHORE 

After  the  ladies  had  been  helped  down 
from  the  rough  earthworks  and  had  spoken 
their  minds  and  taken  off  their  white  aprons 
and  gone  home,  the  battle  began.  Soldiers 
from  the  island  fort  made  a  sally  across  our 
isthmus,  were  repulsed,  and  later  abandoned 
their  works  and  fled  pell-mell  toward  James 
Towne. 

At  the  height  of  our  interest,  the  flow  of 
life  across  the  historic  isthmus  lost  colour, 
then  died  away.  No  more  painted  savages; 
no  more  soldiers;  no  more  gay  groups  of 
mounted  men  and  women  in  bright  London 
dress;  no  more  worshipful  personages  in  rich 
velvet  and  gold  lace.  Instead,  a  slow  som- 
bre train  crossing  heavily  over  and  disappear- 
ing along  the  forest  road  on  the  mainland 
leading  to  Williamsburg.  Here,  colonial  rec- 
ords going  by,  telling  that  the  brave  little 
capital  is  a  capital  no  more;  there,  a  quaint 
church  service,  bespeaking  abandoned  holy 
walls  and  sacred  doors  flapping  in  the  idle 
wind;  and  all  along,  those  shapeless  loads, 
telling  of  forsaken  firesides,  empty  streets,  a 
village  deserted.  After  that,  came  only  an 
occasional  ox-cart,  a  load  of  hay,  or  (from  the 
other  direction)  a  carryall  filled  with  stran- 
gers curious  to  visit  the  site  of  a  little  village 
that  was  once  called  James  Towne. 

47 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Sadly  we  let  our  isthmus  sink  back  beneath 
the  waters;  we  straightened  the  old  roadway, 
and  rebuilt  the  bridge.  Then  we  went  ashore 
to  visit  the  island,  knowing  that  we  should 
find  only  a  few  ruins  and  one  of  the  best 
truck  farms  on  the  river. 

Landing  from  our  shore-boat  near  the  end 
of  the  bridge  at  a  little  cove  that  made  in 
through  a  greenery  of  fox  grape  and  wood- 
bine, we  reached  the  road  and  started  off 
through  the  woodland.  It  was  a  pleasant 
walk  among  the  fragrant  pine  trees  and  in 
the  soft  light  and  the  lengthening  shadows 
of  the  waning  summer  day.  Abruptly  the 
grove  ended,  and  thereafter  the  road  led 
across  a  succession  of  marshy  hollows  and 
cleared  ridges  on  its  way  to  the  other  side 
of  the  island.  About  midway  in  its  course 
it  divided;  one  branch  passing  into  a  large 
enclosure,  the  other  making  a  detour  around 
it. 

The  enclosed  land,  twrenty-three  acres  at 
the  southwest  corner  of  the  island,  belongs  to 
the  Association  for  the  Preservation  of  Vir- 
ginia Antiquities.  It  was  given  to  that  so- 
ciety by  the  present  owner  of  the  island,  Mrs. 
Edward  E.  Barney. 

Passing  within  the  enclosure  and  following 
the  caretaker,  we  approached  with  interest, 

48 


FANCIES  AFLOAT  AND   RUINS  ASHORE 

and  something  of  reverence  too,  a  grove  near 
the  river  bank.  It  was  a  grove  in  whose 
shadowy  depths  is  all  of  James  Towne  that 
remains  above  ground  —  a  ruined  church 
tower  and  some  crumbling  tombs.  As  we 
walked  along  the  curving  road,  we  caught 
glimpses  now  and  then  of  the  venerable 
tower;  and  gradually  it  emerged  as  out  of 
the  shadows  of  the  past,  and  we  stood  facing 
it.  Silently  we  gazed  at  the  ancient  pile,  the 
most  impressive  ruin  of  English  colonization. 
A  hollow  shaft  of  brick,  with  two  high  arched 
openings,  a  crumbling  top,  and  a  hold  on  the 
heart  of  every  American. 

How  fitting  that  the  four  little  broken 
walls  alone  remaining  of  all  that  the  colonists 
built,  should  be  not  the  walls  of  house  or  tav- 
ern or  fort,  but  of  the  tower  of  the  village 
church!  Almost  with  the  solemn  significance 
of  a  tomb  above  the  ashes  of  the  dead,  stands 
the  sacred  pile  over  the  buried  remains  of  old 
James  Towne. 

The  ruin  is  about  thirty-six  feet  high, 
though  doubtless  originally  several  feet 
higher.  Near  the  top  are  loopholes  that  per- 
haps suggest  the  reason  why  the  tower  is 
of  such  massive  build;  in  those  days  the  red 
man  influenced  even  church  architecture. 

Excavations  to  the  east  of  the  tower  have 
49 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

disclosed  the  foundation  walls  of  the  remain- 
der of  the  church,  and  have  helped  to  fix 
the  date  of  erection  as  about  1639.  Within 
these  foundations,  the  ruins  of  a  yet  older 
building  have  been  unearthed.  They  are 
doubtless  the  remains  of  a  wooden  church 
with  brick  foundations  that  was  built  about 
1617.  So,  in  the  contemplation  of  these  little 
ruins  within  ruins,  the  mind  is  carried  back 
to  the  very  beginnings  of  our  country,  to 
within  ten  years  perhaps  of  the  day  when 
those  first  settlers  landed. 

What  this  old  wooden  church  looked  like 
probably  nobody  can  tell;  but  much  has  been 
determined  as  to  the  general  appearance  of 
the  brick  church,  that  to  which  the  venerable 
tower  belonged. 

The  visitor  will  not  be  far  wrong  if,  as  he 
stands  in  the  presence  of  these  ruins,  he  sees 
in  fancy  a  picture  like  this:  the  old  tower 
with  several  feet  of  lost  height  regained,  and 
with  a  roof  sloping  up  from  each  of  the  four 
sides  to  a  peak  in  the  middle  surmounted  by 
a  cross;  behind  the  tower,  those  crumbling 
church  foundations  built  up  into  strong  walls, 
bearing  a  high-pitched  roof;  each  side  of  the 
church  with  four  flying  buttresses  and  three 
lancet  windows;  the  entrance,  a  pair  of 
arched  doorways,  one  in  the  front  and  one 

50 


FANCIES   AFLOAT   AND   RUINS   ASHORE 

in  the  back  of  the  tower;  above  the  doorway 
in  the  front,  a  large  arched  window;  and,  yet 
higher,  the  six  ominous  loopholes;  all  the 
walls  of  the  structure  composed  of  brick  in 
mingled  red  and  black,  and  the  roofs  of  slate. 

Now,  if  the  visitor  wrill  enter  the  quaint  old 
church  that  his  fancy  has  thus  restored  - 
moving  softly,  for  truly  he  is  on  holy  ground 
and  every  step  is  over  unknown  dead  —  he 
may  see  in  vague  vision  a  very  little  of  the 
ancient  interior:  the  nave  lighted  by  dia- 
mond-paned  windows,  not  stained;  the  aisles 
between  the  rows  of  pews  paved  with  brick; 
the  chancel  paved  with  tile;  a  gallery  at  the 
end  next  the  tower;  and,  over  all,  the  heavy 
timbers  of  the  high-pitched  roof.  Perhaps 
beyond  this  fancy  can  not  safely  go. 

Pilgrims  to  this  broken  shrine  will  be  of 
two  opinions  as  to  a  work  of  preservation 
that  the  Society  owning  this  part  of  the 
island  has  entered  into.  About  and  within 
the  church  ruins,  we  saw  evidences  of  building 
in  progress,  and  learned  that  preparation  was 
being  made  for  a  memorial  structure  or 
chapel,  to  be  erected  not  on  but  over  the  old 
church  foundation  walls,  to  preserve  them 
from  the  elements.  It  was  to  be  a  gift  to 
the  Association  for  the  Preservation  of  Vir- 
ginia Antiquities  from  the  National  Society 

51 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

of  the  Colonial  Dames  of  America.  Within 
the  building,  the  ancient  church  foundations 
were  to  be  left  visible.  Though  the  broken 
tower  was  to  be  untouched,  yet  this  building 
was  to  be  placed  practically  against  it  —  to 
be,  in  fact,  a  restoration  of  the  main  body  of 
the  church. 

From  what  we  learned  then  and  later,  it 
was  evident  that  the  work  was  undertaken 
after  the  most  careful  study  and  in  the  most 
painstaking  spirit.  The  structure  has  since 
been  completed,  and  is  doubtless  as  desirable 
a  one  as  could  be  erected  for  the  preservation 
of  the  church  foundations.  Still,  there  will 
be  the  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  wisdom 
of  placing  a  building  of  any  kind  close  to 
the  old  tower.  And  this,  even  though  the 
hard  alternative  should  be  to  preserve  the 
foundations  with  a  cement  covering  merely, 
and  to  place  some  inconspicuous  protection 
over  the  chancel. 

To  the  unimaginative  visitor,  the  plan  that 
has  been  adopted  will  appeal.  To  him  the 
ancient  broken  tower,  standing  alone,  would 
have  little  charm  in  comparison  with  this 
faithful  restoration  of  the  old  church,  that 
enables  him  to  see  what  he  never  could  have 
seen  but  for  its  being  shown  to  him  in  brick 
and  mortar.  But  to  the  pilgrim  of  the  other 

53 


THE    RUINED    TOWER    OF    THE    OLD   VILLAGE    CHURCH. 


FANCIES   AFLOAT  AND   RUINS   ASHORE 

sort  —  day-dreamer,  if  you  will  —  there  must 
come  a  sense  not  of  gain  but  of  loss.  He 
will  feel  that,  for  a  questionable  combination 
of  a  restoration  with  a  ruin,  there  has  been 
sacrificed  the  most  impressive  spectacle  on 
the  island  —  the  ancient  church  tower  of  van- 
ished James  Towne,  standing  in  the  shadow 
of  the  little  grove  by  the  river,  broken,  deso- 
late, alone. 

As  we  stood  amidst  ruins  and  building 
stuff,  we  tried  to  bear  in  mind  that,  of  the 
two  pilgrims,  the  unimaginative  one  is  much 
the  bigger;  but  we  were  so  hopelessly  a  part 
of  the  other  fellow. 


53 


CHAPTER    VI 

IN    THE    OLD    CHURCHYARD 

FOR  two  or  three  days  after  our  visit  to 
the  church  ruins,  rain  kept  us  prisoners  within 
the  houseboat.  Such  times  are  good  tests  to 
determine  how  much  one  possesses  of  the 
houseboating  spirit.  All  the  charms  usually 
associated  with  such  a  life  are  blotted  out  by 
the  lowering  clouds,  washed  away  by  the  fall- 
ing water.  And  how  the  houseboat  shrinks 
when  it  gets  so  wet!  With  decks  unavail- 
able, what  a  little  tiling  the  floating  home 
suddenly  becomes!  Then  there  is  the  cease- 
less patter  overhead,  and  so  close  overhead 
that  one  almost  feels  like  raising  an  umbrella. 

But  to  the  true  houseboater  there  is  a  charm 
in  it  all.  With  water  above,  below,  and  all 
around,  the  little  craft  is  yet  tight  and  snug. 
There  is  plenty  of  food  for  the  mind  on  the 
book-shelves  above  and  plenty  for  the  body 
in  the  lockers  below.  Lady  Fairweather 
found  a  diversion  of  her  own.  She  sat  for 
a  good  part  of  one  wet  afternoon,  with  a 

54 


IN  THE  OLD  CHURCHYARD 


short  pole  thrust  out  of  a  window,  a  baited 
hook  in  the  water,  and  an  expectant  look  on 
her  face.  But  we  had  an  omelet  for  supper. 

On  the  first  bright  morning  we  made  prep- 
arations to  visit  the  island  again.  As  we 
were  about  to  start,  the  sailor  rushed  into 
the  forward  cabin  with  story  enough  in  his 
eyes,  but  only  one  word  on  his  lips  —  "  Fire!  " 

Then  there  was  commotion.  Nautica  ran 
into  the  galley  and  Lady  Fairweather  ran  for 
the  Commodore,  who  wras  out  on  deck.  He 
reached  the  galley  to  find  one  end  of  it  in 
flames  and  himself  half  buried  under  a  shower 
of  boxes,  cans,  paper  bags,  and  packages  of 
breakfast  food.  Nautica,  suddenly  remem- 
bering one  of  the  best  things  for  extinguish- 
ing burning  gasoline,  was  making  everything 
fly  as  she  frantically  sought  to  reach  a  stowed- 
away  bag  of  flour.  The  bag  and  the  Com- 
modore appeared  about  the  same  time,  and 
together  they  made  toward  the  gasoline  stove 
from  which  the  blaze  was  flaming  across  the 
galley.  In  an  instant  all  of  the  flour  was 
cast  into  the  flames.  It  proved  wholly  in- 
sufficient, though  warranted  on  the  bag  to  go 
farther  than  any  other  brand. 

Already  the  blaze  was  about  the  gasoline 
font.  All  knew  that  tibere  was  over  a  barrel- 
ful  of  the  inflammable  liquid  in  the  tank  on 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

the  upper  deck.  Calling  to  the  sailor  to  get 
the  shore-boat  ready,  the  Commodore  scooped 
up  the  fallen  flour  and  cast  it  again  on  the 
fire.  Distracted  Lady  Fairweather  suddenly 
rushed  to  her  cabin  and  back  again,  and  she 
too  wildly  cast  a  shower  of  something  white 
into  the  blaze.  Then  she  stood  pale  and 
speechless,  all  unconscious  of  the  dainty, 
empty  pink  box  clasped  in  both  hands,  and 
of  her  own  heroism  in  sacrificing  her  com- 
plexion to  save  the  houseboat.  As  it  turned 
out,  we  had  no  need  to  row  ashore.  With 
little  or  nothing  to  account  for  it,  except  the 
perversity  of  gasoline,  or  perhaps  the  con- 
tents of  the  little  pink  box,  the  flames  with 
a  final  flare  went  out. 

Then  we  took  account  of  the  situation. 
Flour  was  everywhere.  Nautica  had  eye- 
brows and  hair  singed,  though  she  found  that 
out  only  when  she  got  the  flour  off.  It  was 
hard  to  tell  what  was  the  matter  with  the 
Commodore,  or  to  take  his  troubles  seriously. 
He  had  slightly  scorched  hands  of  course. 
But  then  one  forgot  them  in  looking  at  his 
expressive  face  made  out  of  flour  and  soot, 
and  in  watching  him  spill  breakfast  food  and 
tapioca  when  he  walked. 

We  never  knew  how  the  fire  came  to  start, 
any  more  than  how  it  came  to  go  out.  When 

56 


IN   THE   OLD    CHURCHYARD 


fairly  presentable  again,  we  went  up  on  the 
upper  deck  to  find  a  cool  place  under  the 
awning. 

Evidently,  we  were  adapting  ourselves 
promptly  to  the  ways  of  the  country.  Hav- 
ing fires  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  chief 
diversions  in  old  James  Towne,  and  we  had 
no  sooner  got  to  the  island  than  we  fell  in 
with  the  custom.  It  was  not  a  good  custom. 
Even  with  the  fire  out  we  were  in  trouble; 
for  Gadabout  hadn't  a  piece  of  bread  to  her 
name,  and  we  had  thrown  on  the  fire  the  last 
bit  of  flour  aboard.  We  were  falling  in  with 
more  than  one  of  the  waj^s  of  the  colonists 
—  it  was  fire  and  famine  too. 

The  Commodore  suggested  that  we  send  a 
message  to  the  owner  of  the  island  praying 
that  a  "  Supply  "  be  despatched  to  the  starv- 
ing new  colonists.  But  Nautica  held  that 
such  an  appeal  should  be  made  in  person; 
that  the  Commodore,  like  a  true  Captain 
John  Smith,  should  start  out  himself  to  get 
food  for  his  famishing  little  colony. 

Thus  put  upon  his  mettle,  the  Commodore, 
trailed  by  the  sailor  with  his  basket,  soon  set 
off  along  the  island  road.  Upon  reaching 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  church  ruins  he  met 
an  old  negro. 

"  Mornin',  sub."  And  the  shapeless  hat 
57 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

came  off  in  a  way  that  told  that  this  was  a 
survival  of  the  old  school. 

"  Good  morning,  uncle.  Can  you  tell  me 
which  way  to  go  to  find  the  big  house?  " 

"  Yas,  suh.  I  don'  b'long  heah  myse'f, 
suh;  but  you  see  dat  brick  house  down  de 
road  yondah,  what's  done  been  burn  down? 
Well,  dat  was  de  big  house,  yas,  suh.  But 
it  ain'  no  good  to  stop  dere  now,  no,  suh. 
You  go  right  on  by,  and  de  big  house  now 
is  de  firs'  little  house  you  comes  to." 

According  to  these  directions,  the  way  was 
now  along  a  road  leading  down  the  island. 
It  ran  not  far  from  the  river  bank  and 
through  grounds  having  a  border  of  trees 
skirting  the  water's  edge.  At  last  the  "  little 
big"  house  was  reached.  All  the  members 
of  the  family  were  away  for  the  summer  ex- 
cept one  daughter  who,  with  a  friend  from 
Richmond  for  company,  was  in  charge  of  the 
servants  and  managing  the  island. 

The  Commodore  introduced  himself  and  his 
sad  story  of  fire  and  famine.  He  explained 
that  it  would  be  two  or  three  days  before  sup- 
plies could  be  got  from  Norfolk,  and  darkly 
hinted  at  a  new  chapter  of  suffering  that 
might  be  added  to  the  woeful  history  of  the 
island  unless  something  were  done  at  once. 
The  gloomy  picture  did  not  seem  to  impress 

58 


IN  THE  OLD  CHURCHYARD 


the  young  woman  very  painfully,  for  her  re- 
ply was  a  laughing  one;  but  a  sack  of  flour 
went  into  the  basket  and  a  big  loaf  of  bread 
besides.  Upon  its  coming  out  in  the  conver- 
sation that  we  wished  to  remain  at  our  an- 
chorage for  some  time  and  should  like  to 
know  of  any  limitations  placed  upon  visitors, 
the  freedom  of  the  island  was  most  kindly 
extended  to  us.  The  Commodore  proudly 
returned  with  his  supplies  to  the  houseboat. 

"  Saved  by  the  Daughter  of  the  Island!" 
exclaimed  Lady  Fairweather.  And  by  that 
name  we  came  to  speak  of  our  benefactress. 

After  we  had  broken  bread,  borrowed  bread 
and  good  too,  another  and  more  successful 
attempt  was  made  to  go  on  the  island.  Our 
object  was  to  visit  the  old  graveyard.  Cross- 
ing again  to  the  grove  on  the  James  River 
side,  we  entered  in  among  the  shadows  that 
enwrap  the  ruined  church  and  the  crumbling 
tombs  of  the  village  dead.  The  graveyard, 
or  what  remains  of  it,  is  coextensive  with  the 
grove.  When  most  of  the  deserted  church 
crumbled  and  fell  a  hundred  years  ago,  some 
of  the  bricks  were  used  to  build  a  wall  around 
the  old  burying-ground.  Parts  of  it  are 
standing  yet  in  picturesque,  moss-covered 
ruins. 

This  time  we  found  workmen  engaged  on 
59 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

the  foundations  for  the  memorial  building. 
So  we  were  prevented  from  seeing  satisfac- 
torily some  of  the  tombs,  as  they  were  boxed 
over  to  protect  them  while  this  work  was  in 
progress.  However,  the  caretaker  did  all 
that  he  could  for  us. 

Pitifully  few  are  the  stones  remaining  to 
mark  the  graves  of  that  vanguard  of  English 
colonization.  For  most  who  lie  here,  the  last 
record  has  crumbled  away.  Proud  knight, 
proud  lady,  gentlemen,  gentlewomen,  and  un- 
known humble  folk,  in  common  brotherhood 
at  last,  "  dust  to  dust "  and  unmarked  level 
ground  above  them. 

One  of  the  most  notable  of  the  remaining 
tombs  is  that  of  I^ady  Frances  Berkeley,  who 
rests  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  great  hack- 
berry  tree  that  is  said  to  have  been  brought 
over,  a  slender  sapling,  from  England.  But 
a  few  parts  of  words  remain  on  the  broken 
stone,  and  the  date  is  gone.  Though  after 
the  death  of  her  husband,  Sir  William  Berke- 
ley, this  lady  became  Mrs.  Philip  Ludwell, 
yet  she  clung  to  the  greater  name  and  insisted 
that  her  long  sleep  should  be  under  its  carven 
pomp. 

Peeping  into  a  shed  that  temporarily  cov- 
ered the  old  chancel  floor,  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  mysterious  tomb  of  the  island. 

60 


A  Corner  in  the  Old  Graveyard 


It  is  an  ironstone  tablet,  once  doubtless  inlaid 
with  brass,  as  the  channellings  for  the  metal 
are  yet  clearly  defined.  They  show  a  draped 
figure  and  some  smaller  designs  that  have 
been  taken  as  indications  of  knighthood,  and 
have  led  to  the  conjecture  that  this  is  the  tomb 
of  Sir  George  Yeardley,  governor  of  the  Col- 
ony of  Virginia,  who  died  here  in  1627.  It 
is  said  to  be  the  only  tomb  of  the  kind  in 
America.  Evidently,  the  stone  has  become 
somewhat  displaced;  for  instead  of  being 
orientated  as  it  must  once  have  been,  it  now 
lies  almost  north  and  south. 

We  were  not  able  to  see  the  grave  of  Will- 
iam Sherwood,  that  humble  but  hopeful 
wrong-doer  who  lies  under  the  chiselled  words, 
"  A  Great  sinner  Waiting  for  a  joyfull  Res- 
urrection." 

The  old  graveyard,  like  the  hoary  tower, 
awes  the  mind  and  touches  the  heart.  And 
this  partly  because  of  its  pitiful  littleness.  A 
handful  of  cracked  and  broken  stones  to  tell 
of  all  that  terrible  harvest  that  Death  reaped 
in  the  ruined  village!  But  perhaps  they  tell 
it  all  as  hosts  of  tombs  could  not  do.  One 
reads  between  the  stones,  then  far  out  beyond 
them  where  mouldering  bones  are  feeding  the 
smiling  fields;  and  there  is  borne  in  upon  him 
the  thought  that  our  country  had  life  through 

61 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

so  much  of  death  that  this  whole  island  is  a 
graveyard. 

After  leaving  the  old  tombs,  we  crossed  a 
roadway  and  entered  a  ruined  fort.  In  those 
few  steps  we  made  a  long  plunge  down  the 
years  of  history,  and  passed  far  away  from 
old  James  Towne.  Xone  of  the  colonists  ever 
saw  those  walls  of  earth.  They  are  the  re- 
mains of  a  Confederate  fort.  But,  modern 
as  they  are,  they  have  done  what  they  could 
to  put  themselves  in  harmony  with  the  an- 
cientness  all  about.  The  slopes  are  grass- 
grown  and  even  tree-grown.  Within  the 
walls  is  the  caretaker's  cottage  in  the  midst 
of  such  a  wealth  of  trees,  flowering  shrubs, 
and  vines  as  makes  a  greenwood  retreat.  The 
grass-grown  embrasures  and  the  drooping 
branches  over  them  form  frames  for  river 
views  that  seem  set  there  in  place  of  the  rusty 
cannon  pieces. 

It  was  toward  evening  when  we  started 
back  across  the  island,  houseboatward.  We 
sauntered  slowly  at  first,  turning  for  a  back- 
ward glance  at  the  old  church  tower  and 
pausing  again  to  look  out  over  the  water  at 
the  island's  outer  sentinel,  the  "  Lone  Cy- 
press." We  paused  yet  another  time  down 
where  the  marsh  reeds  lined  the  way.  Grasp- 
ing handfuls  of  the  coarse  grass,  the  Commo- 


IN   THE    OLD    CHURCHYARD 


dore  started  to  illustrate  how  the  colonists 
bound  thatch,  doubtless  from  that  very  marsh, 
to  make  roofs  for  their  flimsy  cabins.  But  the 
marsh  furnished  something  besides  grasses; 
and  before  the  Commodore's  explanation  had 
gone  far,  his  auditors  had  gone  farther.  He 
valiantly  slew  the  snake,  the  whole  six  inches 
of  it,  and  hastening  forward  found  those  more 
progressive  houseboaters  safely  ensconced  in 
the  shore-boat. 

As  the  little  skiff  moved  out  upon  the  river, 
a  carriage  rattled  across  the  bridge.  Sight- 
seers who  had  driven  over  from  Williamsburg 
were  returning.  However  satisfied  they  may 
have  felt  with  their  short  visit,  we  could  only 
pity  them.  Yet  such  a  visit,  of  a  few  hours 
at  most,  is  all  that  is  possible  here  except  for 
one  who  brings  his  home  with  him,  for  there 
is  no  public  house  on  the  island.  Stepping 
aboard  Gadabout,  we  congratulated  ourselves 
that  she  enabled  us  to  live  indefinitely  right 
in  the  suburbs  of  old  James  Towne. 

However,  as  days  went  on,  Lady  Fair- 
weather  became  somewhat  daunted  by  the 
dire  predictions  of  chills  and  fever  as  a  result 
of  our  long  lying  in  the  marshes;  and  one 
day  she  deserted  the  ship  and  sailed  away  on 
a  bigger  one.  We  thought  she  was  to  be 
gone  only  a  little  while,  but  she  proved  a  real 

63 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

deserter  and  Gadabout  saw  no  more  of  her 
to  the  end  of  the  cruise. 

But  chills  and  fever  never  came  to  Gad- 
about's household,  though  the  dog-day  sun 
beat  upon  the  waste  of  reeds  and  rushes  about 
us  and  though  striped-legged  mosquitoes  were 
our  nearest  and  most  attentive  neighbours. 
Fortunately,  the  mosquitoes  did  not  feel  that 
hospitality  required  them  to  call  upon  the 
strangers  or  to  show  them  any  attention  ex- 
cept in  the  evening.  Even  then  they  were 
more  or  less  distant,  rarely  coming  into  the 
houseboat,  but  lingering  in  a  neighbourly  way 
about  doors  and  windows,  and  whispering  as- 
surances of  their  regard  through  some  crossed 
wires  that  we  happened  to  have  there. 

One  of  the  chief  causes  of  illness  among 
the  colonists,  impure  water,  we  did  not  have 
to  contend  with.  In  the  early  days  of  James 
Towne,  the  river  was  the  only  water  supply; 
later,  shallow  wells  were  dug;  both  the  river 
and  the  wells  furnished  impure,  brackish 
water.  To-day,  two  artesian  wells  are  flow- 
ing on  the  island.  As  we  got  our  supply 
from  them,  we  often  thought  of  how  those 
first  settlers  suffered  and  died  for  want  of 
pure  water,  when  all  the  while  this  inexhaust- 
ible supply  lay  imprisoned  beneath  their  corn- 
fields. But  even  the  water  from  the  arte- 

64 


IN  THE  OLD  CHURCHYARD 


sian  wells  we  took  the  precaution  to  boil.  So, 
pitting  screens  against  mosquitoes  and  the 
teakettle  against  water  germs,  we  lived  on, 
chill-less  and  fever-less  in  the  marshes  of  Back 
River. 


65 


CHAPTER    VII 

SEEING    WHERE   THINGS   HAPPENED 

WE  were  fortunate  in  visiting  Jamestown 
Island  after  considerable  had  been  accom- 
plished in  the  way  of  lessening  the  number 
of  its  historic  sites.  For  a  long  while,  almost 
every  important  event  in  its  story  had  occurred 
at  so  many  different  places  that  it  was 
scarcely  possible  for  the  pilgrim  to  do  justice 
to  them  all. 

But,  some  time  before  our  visit  to  the  is- 
land, an  era  of  scientific  investigation  set  in; 
researches  were  made  among  old  musty  rec- 
ords; and  even  the  soil  was  turned  up  in 
order  to  determine  the  place  where  this  or 
that  event  really  did  happen.  The  reduction 
in  the  number  of  places  of  interest  was  aston- 
ishing. In  every  instance,  it  was  found  that 
the  historic  event  in  question  had  happened 
at  but  a  single  place;  and  consequently  all 
its  other  time-honoured  sites  suddenly  became 
unhistoric  soil. 

An  instance  or  two  will  serve  to  illustrate. 
86 


SEEING   WHERE   THINGS  HAPPENED 

Upon  our  visit  to  James  Towne,  we  found 
that  the  site  of  the  colonists'  first  fort  (long 
variously  fixed  at  several  points  along  the 
river  front)  was  now  limited  to  a  single  spot 
near  the  caretaker's  cottage;  so  that  all  the 
brave  fighting  that  had  been  going  on  at  those 
other  sites,  had  been  for  nothing. 

In  like  manner,  it  had  long  been  well  estab- 
lished that  Pocahontas  and  John  Rolfe  were 
married  in  the  church  whose  tower  is  yet 
standing;  also  in  the  brick  and  wood  church 
that  just  preceded  this  one;  also  in  a  rough 
timber  church  that  just  preceded  that  one. 
Each  of  these  edifices  was  the  true,  genuine 
scene  of  the  romantic  event. 

But,  under  the  new  arrangement,  we  found 
only  one  church  where  Rolfe  and  Pocahontas 
were  married  —  just  the  old  timber  one.  In- 
deed, in  this  instance,  the  work  of  elimination 
seemed  almost  unduly  rigorous.  The  other 
churches  were  set  aside  upon  circumstantial 
evidence  merely;  there  being  nothing  against 
them  except  that  they  were  found  to  have 
been  built  some  years  after  the  ceremony. 

On  the  whole,  however,  the  work  of  fixing 
sites  authoritatively  was  doubtless  just.  In 
any  event,  there  was  no  opportunity  for  us 
to  protest;  for  by  the  time  we  got  to  the 
island,  they  had  everything  down  on  a  map 

67 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

in  a  book.  We  bought  a  copy  of  the  book, 
and  resolved  to  stage  by  it  the  events  of  the 
James  Towne  story.  We  resolved  also  to  be 
most  methodical  from  now  on;  and  to  "  do  " 
things  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  same  order 
as  the  colonists  had  done  them. 

So  one  morning  we  gathered  up  our  au- 
thorities and  started  out  to  see  where  the  set- 
tlers first  landed  and  where  they  first  lived. 
According  to  the  map,  that  historic,  first  land- 
ing-place would  be  anything  but  a  landing- 
place  to-day;  for  figure  "  25  "  (that  was  it) 
stood  well  out  in  the  river.  The  loss  by  ero- 
sion had  been  great  along  that  part  of  the 
shore  since  those  first  settlers  arrived.  But 
even  though  the  landing-place  could  not  be 
seen,  one  could  look  out  on  the  waters  anyway 
and  see  where  it  used  to  be. 

At  first  we  feared  that  there  might  be  some 
trouble  in  telling  where  the  "  25  "  on  the  map 
would  be  on  the  water.  But  it  was  a  very 
simple  thing  to  do,  largely  owing  to  the 
thoughtfulness  of  the  settlers  in  landing  al- 
most opposite  a  jetty  that  runs  out  from  the 
shore  a  little  above  the  Confederate  fort. 

Upon  reaching  the  river  front  of  the  island, 
we  took  our  bearings  from  the  map  and 
walked  slowly  toward  the  water's  edge,  being 
careful  not  to  walk  too  far  as  the  water's  edge 

68 


SEEING   WHERE   THINGS   HAPPENED 

is  so  much  closer  in  now  than  it  used  to  be. 
Going  to  the  uppermost  of  the  several  jet- 
ties, we  sighted  along  it  straight  out  over  the 
water  and  kept  on  looking,  in  accordance 
with  the  measurements  on  the  map,  until  we 
had  looked  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  yards; 
then,  turned  our  eyes  sharply  to  the  right  and 
looked  thirty-three  and  one  third  yards  more. 
We  then  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that 
the  spot  our  eyes  rested  upon  was,  in  1607, 
on  the  shore  of  the  island,  and  was  the  place 
where  the  original  settlers  first  landed.  Nor 
was  our  satisfaction  at  all  dampened  by  the 
discovery  that  the  spot  was  two  spots  —  Nau- 
tica  gazing  spellbound  at  one  place,  and  the 
Commodore  at  another. 

After  all,  it  made  very  little  difference,  for 
the  settlers  did  not  stay  where  they  landed 
anyway. 

They  seem  to  have  built  their  fort  and  their 
little  settlement  within  it  about  five  hundred 
feet  farther  down  stream  and  some  distance 
back  from  the  shore.  It  was  in  the  form  of 
a  triangle  and  had  an  area  of  about  an  acre. 
Its  entire  site  has  been  generally  supposed  to 
be  washed  away,  but  the  recent  researches 
show  that  such  is  not  the  case.  A  considerable 
part  of  it  is  left  and  is  now  safe  behind  a 
protecting  sea-wall.  As,  at  the  time  of  our 

69 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

visit,  nothing  marked  this  remnant  of  the  his- 
toric acre,  we  undertook  to  locate  it.  For- 
tunately, the  Confederate  fort  stands  in  such 
position  as  to  help  in  running  the  boundaries 
by  the  map.  For  a  rough  approximation,  all 
we  had  to  do  was  to  get  Mr.  Leal,  the  care- 
taker, to  stand  at  the  most  westerly  angle 
of  the  fort,  and  his  son  on  the  sea-wall  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  fort,  and  Henry  on  the 
sea-wall  a  hundred  yards  farther  up  stream; 
then,  straight  lines  connecting  these  three  men 
enclosed  all  that  is  left  of  that  first  little  forti- 
fied settlement  where  Anglo-Saxon  America 
began.  While  the  three  men  stood  at  the 
three  corners,  we  took  a  photograph  of  the 
historic  bit  of  land;  and  long  after  they  had 
gone  we  lingered  reflectively  about  it. 

Here,  in  that  spring  of  1607,  within  the 
strong  palisade,  the  settlers  built  their  first 
cabins.  Here,  Captain  Newport  left  them, 
and  sailed  back  to  England.  Here,  too,  he 
found  them  again  —  a  pitiful  few  of  them  - 
when  he  returned  the  next  winter  with  rein- 
forcements for  the  colon}r.  By  another  win- 
ter, the  palisaded  village  had  extended  some- 
what, mostly  eastward.  It  then  included,  so 
far  as  we  could  make  out,  all  the  land  now 
within  the  Confederate  fort  and  probably  also 
the  site  of  the  present  ruined  church  and 

70 


SEEING   WHERE   THINGS   HAPPENED 

graveyard.  Upon  this  little  four-acre  settle- 
ment hung  the  destiny  of  a  hemisphere  for 
the  next  few  years. 

We  trudged  about  within  the  old  town 
limits  and  tried  to  picture  the  chief  events  of 
those  years ;  but  we  could  not  remember  what 
they  were ;  so  we  sat  down  on  the  grassy  fort, 
regardless  of  ticks  and  redbugs,  to  read  up 
some  more.  For  a  while  there  wras  no  sound 
but  the  twitter  of  the  birds  and  the  murmur 
of  the  river.  Then  the  Commodore  found 
something  in  his  book,  and  he  began  very 
solemnly  to  tell  of  how  on  that  very  spot  the 
colonists  endured  the  horrors  of  the  "  Starv- 
ing Time."  At  this  there  was  such  a  genuine 
exclamation  of  pleasure  from  Nautica  that 
the  Commodore  knew  he  was  too  late;  she 
had  not  even  heard.  She  had  found  some- 
thing in  her  book  too,  and  was  already  an- 
nouncing that  it  was  right  there  that  John 
Rolfe  and  Pocahontas  were  married. 

But  the  Commodore  insisted  that  his  story 
came  first,  as  Nautica's  romantic  event  was 
not  until  1614,  while  his  famine  was  in 
1609-10.  Nautica  sighed  resignedly  as  she 
agreed  that  we  should  starve  first  and  get 
married  afterward. 

After  all,  we  found  that  we  could  not  speak 
lightly,  sitting  there  in  the  midst  of  the  scene 

71 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

of  the  "  Starving  Time."  By  the  winter  of 
1609-10  there  were  perhaps  five  hundred  per- 
sons in  this  little  settlement  by  the  river,  in- 
cluding now,  unfortunately,  some  women  and 
children.  When  there  was  no  more  corn,  the 
people  managed  for  a  while  to  keep  alive  on 
roots  and  herbs;  then,  half-crazed  by  starva- 
tion, they  fell  to  cannibalism.  Gaunt,  des- 
perate, de-humanized,  they  crouched  about 
the  kettle  that  held  their  own  dead.  A  Bible 
fed  the  flames,  cast  in  by  a  poor  wretch  as 
he  cried,  "  Alas!  there  is  no  God!  " 

The  succeeding  spring  brought  two  ships, 
a  belated  portion  of  one  of  the  "  Supplies." 
But  sixty  of  the  five  hundred  colonists  were 
found  alive  —  sixty  haggard  men,  women, 
and  children,  hunger-crazed,  huddled  behind 
the  broken  palisades.  Sadly  suggestive  must 
have  seemed  the  names  of  the  two  vessels  that 
appeared  upon  that  awful  scene  —  Patience 
and  Deliverance.  But  the  deliverance  that 
they  brought  was  of  a  poor  sort.  They  had 
not  on  board  provisions  enough  to  last  a 
month. 

It  was  decided  that  it  was  vain  for  the 
colony  to  try  to  hold  out  longer.  James 
Towne,  upon  which  so  much  blood  and  treas- 
ure had  been  spent  and  that  had  seemed  at 
last  to  give  England  a  hold  in  the  New 

72 


SEEING   WHERE   THINGS   HAPPENED 

World,  must  be  abandoned.  To  the  roll  of 
drums,  the  remnant  of  the  colony  boarded 
the  vessels,  sails  were  set,  and  the  little  ships 
dropped  down  the  river  bound  for  far-away 
England. 

The  last  sail  passed  around  the  bend  in 
the  stream,  and  only  a  desolate  blotch  in  the 
wilderness  was  left  to  tell  of  England's  at- 
tempt to  colonize  America;  only  a  great  gash 
in  the  forest,  there  in  the  quiet  and  the  sun- 
light, at  the  edge  of  the  river.  Within  it 
were  the  shapeless  ruins  of  those  queer  things 
the  pale-faces  had  made  —  broken  palisades, 
yawning  houses,  the  tottering  thing  they 
called  a  church;  and,  all  about,  the  hideous, 
ghastly  traces  of  living  and  of  dying.  The 
sun  went  down;  and,  in  the  gloom  of  the 
summer  night,  from  the  forest  and  the  marsh 
wild  things  came  creeping  to  the  edge  of  the 
clearing,  sat  peering  there,  then  ventured 
nearer  —  curious,  suspicious,  greedy.  Soft, 
noiseless,  and  ghost-like  was  the  flight  of  the 
great  owl  through  the  desolation,  and  his  un- 
canny cry  and  the  wail  of  the  whippoorwill 
filled  the  night  as  with  mockery  and  mourn- 
ing. 

Quick,  startling,  and  almost  miraculous 
was  the  next  change  in  the  scene:  a  change 
from  the  emptiness  of  desolation  to  the  bus- 

73 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

tling  fulness  of  life  and  colour  —  the  harbour 
dotted  with  ships,  the  little  village  crowded 
with  people,  James  Towne  alive  again.  For 
even  in  the  dark  hour  of  abandonment,  it  was 
not  destined  that  the  settlement  should  perish. 
Even  as  the  colonists  sailed  down  the  James, 
a  fleet  bearing  reinforcements  and  stores  of 
supplies  was  entering  the  mouth  of  the  river. 
The  settlers  were  turned  back;  and  following 
them  came  the  fleet,  bringing  to  deserted 
James  Towne  not  only  new  colonists,  but 
pomp,  ceremony,  and  the  stately,  capable  new 
governor,  Lord  Delaware. 

"  He  was  the  one  who  went  to  church  with 
so  much  show  and  flourish,  wasn't  he? "  asked 
Nautica. 

'  Yes,"  answered  the  Commodore  confi- 
dently, as  he  happened  to  have  his  book  open 
at  the  right  page.  '  Lord  Delaware  attended 
the  little  church  in  the  wilderness  in  all  state, 
accompanied  by  his  council  and  guarded  by 
fifty  halberd  bearers  wearing  crimson  cloaks. 
He  sat  in  a  green  velvet  chair  and  - 

;<  Where  do  you  think  that  church  was? " 
interrupted  Nautica. 

"  Right  near  here.  They  say  it  stood  about 
a  hundred  jrards  above  the  later  one  whose 
ruins  are  over  there  in  the  graveyard.  And  in 
that  church  Lord  Delaware  and  his  council— 

74 


SEEING   WHERE   THINGS   HAPPENED 

"  Yes,"  Nautica  broke  in  again.  '  That 
was  the  church  that  they  were  married  in  — 
John  Rolfe  and  Pocahontas." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  Commodore.  "  Let 
the  wedding  bells  ring.  It  is  time  now  for 
the  ceremony." 

And  a  strange  ceremony  it  must  have  been 
that  the  little  timber  church  saw  that  April 
day  in  the  year  1614,  when  the  young  colonist 
of  good  English  family  linked  his  fate  with 
that  of  the  dark-skinned  girl  of  the  tepee. 
It  was  the  first  marriage  of  Englishman  and 
Indian  in  the  colony,  and  meant  much  to  the 
struggling  settlers  in  furthering  peaceful  re- 
lations with  the  savages.  Speaking  in  the 
society-column  vernacular  of  a  later  day,  the 
occasion  was  marred  by  the  absence  of  the 
bride's  father.  The  wary  old  chieftain  was 
not  willing  to  place  himself  within  the  power 
of  the  English.  But  the  bride's  family  was 
represented  by  two  of  her  brothers  and  by 
her  old  uncle,  Opachisco,  who  gave  her  away. 
Other  red  men  were  present.  Doubtless  the 
governor  of  the  colony,  Sir  Thomas  Dale, 
who  much  approved  the  marriage,  added  a 
touch  of  official  dignity  by  attending  the 
ceremony  resplendent  in  uniform  and  accom- 
panied by  colonial  officials. 

It  was  a  strange  wedding  party.  While 
75 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

the  minister  (Was  it  the  Reverend  Richard 
Buck  or  the  good  Alexander  Whittaker?) 
read  the  marriage  service  of  the  Church  of 
England,  the  eyes  of  haughty  cavalier  and 
of  impassive  savage  met  above  the  kneeling 
pair  and  sought  to  read  each  other.  And 
a  strange  fate  hung  over  the  pale-face  groom 
and  the  dusky  bride  —  that  in  her  land  and 
by  her  people  he  should  be  slain;  that  in 
his  land  and  among  his  people  she  should  die 
and  find  a  lonely  grave  beside  an  English 
river. 

'  That  is  just  one  marriage  that  you  have 
been  so  interested  in,  isn't  it?  "  The  Commo- 
dore's tone  was  one  to  provoke  inquiry. 

"Just  one?"  repeated  Nautica.  "  Why, 
to  be  sure,  unless  it  takes  two  weddings  to 
marry  two  people." 

"  Just  one  wedding,"  persisted  the  Commo- 
dore. !<  Now,  I  am  interested  in  dozens  and 
dozens  of  weddings  that  happened  right  here, 
and  all  in  one  day." 

There  were  several  things  the  matter  with 
James  Towne  from  the  outset.  Prominent 
among  them  was  the  absence  of  women  and 
children.  After  a  while  a  few  colonists  witli 
families  arrived;  but,  to  introduce  the  home 
element  more  generally  into  the  colony, 
"  young  women  to  make  wives  ninety  "  came 

76 


SEEING   WHERE   THINGS   HAPPENED 

from  England  in  1619.  The  scene  upon  their 
arrival  must  have  been  one  of  the  most  unique 
in  the  annals  of  matrimony.  The  streets  of 
James  Towne  were  undoubtedly  crowded. 
The  little  capital  had  bachelors  enough  of 
her  own,  but  now  she  held  also  those  that 
came  flocking  in  from  the  other  settlements 
of  the  colony.  The  maids  were  not  to  be 
compelled  to  marry  against  their  choice;  and 
they  were  so  outnumbered  by  their  suitors 
that  they  could  do  a  good  deal  of  picking 
and  choosing.  With  rusty  finery  and  rusty 
wooing,  the  bachelor  colonists  strove  for  the 
fair  hands  that  were  all  too  few,  and  there 
was  many  a  rejected  swain  that  day. 

We  might  have  forgotten  the  other  im- 
portant events  that  had  happened  round 
about  where  we  were  sitting,  in  that  first 
little  town  by  the  river,  if  a  coloured  man 
had  not  wandered  our  way.  He  had  driven 
some  sightseers  over  from  Williamsburg,  and 
while  waiting  for  them  to  visit  the  graveyard, 
he  seemed  to  find  relief  in  confiding  to  us 
some  of  his  burden  of  colonial  lore  and  that 
his  name  was  Cornelius.  We  had  over  again 
the  story  of  Rolfe  and  Pocahontas,  but  it 
seemed  not  at  all  wearisome,  for  the  new  ver- 
sion was  such  a  vast  improvement  upon  the 
one  that  we  got  out  of  the  books.  However, 

77 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

his  next  statement  eclipsed  the  Pocahontas 
story. 

"  De  firs'  time  folks  evah  meek  dey  own 
laws  for  dey  se'fs  was  right  heah,  suh,  right 
in  dat  ole  chu'ch." 

While  again  facts  could  not  quite  keep  up 
with  Cornelius,  yet  it  was  true  that  our  little 
four-acre  town  had  seen  the  beginnings  of 
American  self-government.  So  early  did  the 
spirit  of  home  rule  assert  itself,  that  it  bore 
fruit  in  1619,  when  a  local  lawmaking  body 
was  created,  called  the  General  Assembly  and 
consisting  in  part  of  a  House  of  Burgesses 
chosen  by  the  people.  On  July  30  of  that 
year,  the  General  Assembly  met  in  the  village 
church  —  the  first  representative  legislature 
in  America.  The  place  of  meeting  was  not, 
as  is  often  stated,  the  church  in  which  Rolfe 
and  Pocahontas  were  married,  but  its  suc- 
cessor—  the  earliest  of  the  churches  whose 
ruined  foundations  are  yet  to  be  seen  behind 
the  old  tower. 

Perhaps  our  thoughts  had  wandered  some 
from  Cornelius,  but  he  brought  them  back 
again. 

"  Dey  set  in  de  chu'ch  an'  meek  de  laws 
wid  dey  hats  on,"  he  asserted. 

And  as  the  House  of  Burgesses  had  indeed 
followed  in  this  respect  the  custom  of  the 

78 


SEEING   WHERE   THINGS   HAPPENED 

English  House  of  Commons,  we  were  glad 
to  see  Cornelius  for  once  in  accord  with  other 
historians. 

Then,  Nautica  spoke  of  how  the  very  year 
that  saw  the  beginning  of  free  government 
in  America  saw  the  beginning  of  slavery  too; 
and  she  asked  Cornelius  if  he  knew  that 
the  first  coloured  people  were  brought  to 
America  in  1619  and  landed  there  at  James 
Towne. 

'  Yas'm ;  ev'ybody  tole  me  'bout  dat. 
Seem  like  we  got  heah  'bout  as  soon  as  de 
white  folks." 

It  was  a  comfortable  view  to  take  of  the 
matter,  and  we  would  not  disturb  it. 

Cornelius  told  us  other  things. 

"  Dis,  now,  is  de  off  season  for  touris',"  he 
explained.  "  We  has  two  mos'  reg'lar  sea- 
sons, de  spring  an'  de  fall,  yas,  suh.  I  drives 
right  many  ovah  heah  from  Willi'msburg. 
I's  pretty  sho  to  git  hoi'  of  de  bes'  an'  de 
riches'.  An'  I  reckon  I  knows  'bout  all  dere 
is  to  be  knowed  'bout  dis  firs'  settlemen'.  I's 
got  it  all  so's  I  kin  talk  it  off  an'  take  in 
de  extry  change.  I  don'  know  is  you  evah 
notice,  but  folks  is  mighty  diffrunt  'bout 
seein'  dese  ole  things.  Yas,  suh,  dey  sut'n'y 
is.  Some  what  I  drives  jes  looks  at  de  towah 
an'  nuver  gits  out  de  ker'ige;  an'  den  otliahs 

79 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

jes  peers  into  ev'ythin'.  Fob  myse'f,  now, 
I  nuver  keers  much  'bout  dese  ole  sce- 
neries; but  den  I  reckon  I  would  ef  I  was 
rich." 


CHAPTER    VIII 

PIONEER   VILLAGE   LIFE 

THAT  first  little  four-acre  James  Towne, 
located  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  present 
Confederate  fort,  soon  outgrew  its  palisades. 
In  what  may  be  called  its  typical  days,  the 
village  stretched  in  a  straggling  way  for  per- 
haps three  quarters  of  a  mile  up  and  down 
the  river  front,  and  with  outlying  parts  reach- 
ing across  the  island  to  Back  River.  It  usu- 
ally consisted  of  a  church,  a  few  public  build- 
ings, about  a  score  of  dwellings,  and  perhaps 
a  hundred  people. 

One  of  the  principal  streets  (if  James 
Towne's  thoroughfares  could  be  called  streets) 
ran  close  along  the  water  front.  While  it 
must  once  have  had  some  shorter  name,  it 
has  come  down  in  the  records  as  "  the  way 
along  the  Create  River."  Here  and  there 
traces  of  this  highway  can  still  be  found ;  and 
the  mulberry  trees  now  standing  along  the 
river  bank  are  supposed  to  be  descendants  of 
those  that  bordered  the  old  village  highway. 

81 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Xext  came  Back  Street  upon  which  some 
prominent  people  seem  to  have  lived.  Ap- 
parently leading  across  the  head  of  the  island 
from  the  town  toward  the  isthmus  was  the 
"  old  Create  Road."  There  still  appear  some 
signs  of  this  also  near  the  graveyard.  Be- 
sides these  highways  there  were  several  lanes 
and  cart-paths. 

The  eastward  extension  of  the  village, 
called  New  Towne,  was  the  principal  part. 
It  was  the  fashionable  and  official  quarter. 
Here  lived  many  "  people  of  qualitye." 
Royal  governors  and  ex-governors,  knights 
and  members  of  the  Council  had  their  homes 
along  the  river  front,  where  they  lived  in  all 
the  state  that  they  could  transplant  from 
"  London  Towne." 

The  buildings,  in  the  early  days  of  wood 
and  later  of  brick,  were  plainly  rectangular. 
The  later  ones  were  usually  two  stories  high 
with  steep-pitched  roofs.  Some  of  the  dwell- 
ings, or  dwellings  and  public  buildings,  were 
built  together  in  rows  to  save  in  the  cost  of 
construction.  Probably  most  of  the  homes 
had  "  hort  yards  "  and  gardens.  The  colo- 
nists were  not  content  with  having  about  them 
the  native  flowers  and  fruits  and  those  that 
they  brought  from  England;  but  they  made 
persistent  efforts  for  years  to  grow  in  their 

82 


PIONEER   VILLAGE    LIFE 


gardens  oranges,  lemons,  pomegranates,  and 
pineapples. 

Usually  there  was  not  much  going  on  in 
old  James  Towne,  but  periodically  the  place 
was  enlivened  by  the  sessions  of  the  General 
Assembly  and  of  the  Court.  At  such  times 
the  planters  and  their  following  gathered  in; 
and  then  doubtless  there  were  stirring  days  in 
the  village  capital  of  "  His  Majesty's  Colony 
of  Virginia."  Barges  of  the  river  planters 
were  tied  alongshore,  and  about  the  "  tav- 
ernes "  were  horses,  carts  and  a  very  few 
more  pretentious  vehicles.  Many  of  the  peo- 
ple on  the  streets  were  in  showy  dress;  though 
only  the  governor,  councillors,  and  heads  of 
"  Hundreds  "  were  allowed  to  wear  gold  on 
their  clothes. 

James  Towne,  in  her  later  days,  seems  to 
have  had  a  "  taverne  "  or  two  even  when  she 
had  scarcely  anything  else;  and  doubtless 
these  "  alehouses "  were  the  centres  of  life 
in  those  bustling  court  and  assembly  days. 
For  not  only  was  deep  drinking  a  trait  of 
the  times,  but  many  of  the  sessions  both  of 
the  Assembly  and  of  the  Court  were  held  in 
the  "  tavernes."  Three  or  four  State-houses 
were  built;  but  with  almost  suspicious  reg- 
ularity they  burned  down,  and  homeless  As- 
sembly and  Court  betook  themselves  and  the 

83 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

affairs  of  the  colony  to  the  inns.  There,  in 
the  ruddy  glow  of  the  great  fireplaces,  the 
judges  could  sit  comfortably  and  dispense 
justice  tempered  with  spirits. 

So  life  in  James  Towne  went  on  until  the 
village  had  completed  almost  a  hundred  years 
of  existence.  But  this  was  accomplished  only 
by  the  most  strenuous  efforts.  When  at  last, 
in  1699,  the  long  struggle  was  given  up  and 
the  seat  of  government  was  removed  to  Will- 
iamsburg,  nothing  but  utter  dissolution  was 
left  for  James  Towne. 

The  fated  little  village  had  played  its  part. 
Through  untold  suffering  and  a  woeful  cost 
of  human  life,  it  had  fought  on  until  Eng- 
land obtained  a  firm  hold  in  America  —  a 
hold  that  was  to  make  the  New  World  essen- 
tially Anglo-Saxon.  Then  this  pioneer  col- 
ony's mission  was  ended.  It  was  not  des- 
tined to  have  any  place  in  the  great  nation 
that  its  struggle  had  made  possible.  One  by 
one  the  lights  in  the  poor  little  windows  flick- 
ered and  went  out.  The  deserted  hearth- 
stones grew  cold.  Abandoned  and  forgotten, 
the  pitiful  hamlet  crumbled  away. 

James  Towne  dead,  the  island  gradually 
fell  into  fewer  hands  until  it  became,  as  it 
is  to-day,  the  property  of  a  single  owner; 
simply  a  plantation  like  any  other.  And  yet, 

84 


PIONEER   VILLAGE   LIFE 


how  unlike!  Even  were  every  vestige  of  that 
pioneer  settlement  gone  forever,  memory 
would  hold  this  island  a  place  apart.  But 
all  is  not  gone.  Despite  decay  and  the  greedy 
river,  there  yet  remains  to  us  a  handful  of 
ruins  of  vanished  James  Towne.  Despite  a 
nation's  shameful  neglect,  time  has  spared  to 
her  some  relics  of  the  community  that  gave 
her  birth  —  a  few  broken  tombs  and  the 
crumbling  tower  of  the  old  village  church. 
Every  year  come  many  of  our  people  to  look 
upon  these  ancient  ruins  and  to  pause  in  the 
midst  of  hurried  lives  to  recall  again  their 
story. 


85 


CHAPTER    IX 

GOOD  -  BYE   TO   OLD   JAMES   TOWNE 

Two  or  three  times  we  ran  the  houseboat 
around  in  front  of  the  island.  On  one  occa- 
sion we  took  the  notion  to  stop  at  places  of 
interest  along  the  way.  Upon  coming  out 
from  Back  River,  we  spent  some  time  poking 
about  in  the  water  for  the  old-time  isthmus. 
We  were  not  successful  at  first  and  almost 
feared  that,  after  raising  it  for  our  own  self- 
ish purposes  some  days  before,  we  had  let 
it  go  down  again  in  the  wrong  place. 

This  troubled  us  the  more  because  we  had 
hoped  to  settle  a  vexed  question  as  to  how 
wide  an  isthmus  had  once  connected  the  island 
with  the  mainland.  Nautica  insisted  that  the 
width  had  been  ten  paces  because  a  woman, 
Mrs.  An.  Cotton,  who  once  lived  near  James 
Towne,  had  said  so.  But  the  Commodore 
pointed  out  that  we  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Cot- 
ton, and  that  we  did  not  know  whether  she 
was  a  tall  woman  or  a  little  dumpy  woman; 
and  so  could  not  have  the  slightest  idea  of 

86 


GADABOUT    LOOKING    FOR    THE    LOST    ISTHMUS. 


A    VISIT    TO    THE    "  LONE    CYPRESS." 


GOOD-BYE   TO    OLD   JAMES  TOWNE 

how  far  ten  paces  would  carry  her.  On  his 
part,  he  pinned  his  faith  to  the  statement  of 
Strachey,  a  man  who  had  lived  in  James 
Towne  and  who  had  said  that  the  isthmus 
was  no  broader  than  "  a  man  will  quaite  a 
tileshard."  But  this  Nautica  refused  to  ac- 
cept as  satisfactory  because  we  did  not  know 
what  a  "  tileshard  "  was  nor  how  far  a  man 
would  "  quaite  "  one.  So  we  were  naturally 
anxious  to  see  which  of  us  was  right. 

After  a  while  we  found  traces  of  the  isth- 
mus. And  the  matter  turned  out  just  as  most 
disputes  will,  if  both  parties  patiently  wait 
until  the  facts  are  all  in  —  that  is,  both  sides 
were  right.  The  soundings  showed  the  isth- 
mus to  shelve  off  so  gradually  at  the  sides 
that  we  found  we  could  put  the  stakes,  mark- 
ing its  edges,  almost  any  distance  apart.  So, 
the  width  across  the  isthmus  could  very  well 
be  ten  of  Mrs.  Cotton's  paces,  no  matter  what 
sort  of  a  woman  she  was;  and  it  could  just 
as  well  be  the  distance  that  "  a  man  will 
quaite  a  tileshard,"  be  a  tileshard  what  it  may. 

Now,  coasting  along  the  end  of  the  island, 
we  had  designs  on  the  "  Lone  Cypress  "  for 
a  sort  of  novel  sensation.  We  approached 
the  hoary  old  sentinel  carefully,  for  it  would 
be  a  sin  to  even  bark  its  shaggy  sides;  and, 
dropping  a  rope  over  a  projecting  broken 

87 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

"  knee,"  we  enjoyed  a  striking  object  lesson 
on  the  effects  of  erosion.  In  several  feet  of 
water,  and  nearly  three  hundred  feet  from 
land,  our  houseboat  was  tied  to  a  tree;  tied 
to  a  tree  that  a  hundred  years  before  stood 
on  the  shore  —  a  tree  that  likely,  in  the  early 
days  of  the  colony  (for  who  knows  the  age 
of  the  i:' Lone  Cypress"?),  stood  hundreds 
of  yards  back  on  the  island.  But  it  may 
never  be  farther  from  shore  than  we  found 
it;  for  there,  glistening  in  the  sunshine,  stood 
the  sea-wall  holding  the  hungry  river  at  bay. 

Carefully  slipping  our  rope  from  the  tree, 
we  let  the  tide  carry  us  out  a  little  way  be- 
fore starting  an  engine.  Then,  bidding  good- 
bye to  the  old  cypress,  we  moved  on  along 
the  shore.  We  were  aware  from  our  map  of 
ancient  holdings  that  we  were  ruthlessly  cut- 
ting across  lots  over  the  colonial  acres  of  one 
Captain  Edward  Ross;  but,  seeing  neither 
dogs  nor  trespass  signs,  we  sailed  right  on. 
The  Captain  would  not  have  to  resort  to  irri- 
gation on  his  lands  to-day. 

While  dawdling  about  this  submerged  por- 
tion of  old  James  Towne,  we  thought  we 
would  make  a  stop  at  the  spot  where  those 
first  settlers  landed.  After  consulting  the 
map,  we  manoauvred  the  houseboat  so  as  to 
enable  us  to  do  some  rough  sort  of  triangii- 

88 


GOOD-BYE   TO   OLD   JAMES   TOWNE 

lation  with  the  compass,  and  finally  dropped 
anchor,  satisfied  that  we  were  at  the  historic 
spot,  even  though  it  was  too  wet  to  get  out 
and  look  for  the  footprints.  And  there,  well 
out  on  the  yellow  waters  of  the  James,  Gad- 
about lay  lazily  in  the  sunshine  where  Sarah 
Constant  was  once  tied  to  the  bank;  where 
those  first  settlers  stepped  ashore;  where 
America  began. 

After  following  the  island  a  little  farther 
down  stream,  we  cast  anchor  in  a  hollow  of 
the  shore-line  near  the  steamboat  pier.  It 
was  not  much  of  a  hollow  after  all  and  really 
formed  no  harbour.  When  the  west  wind 
came  howling  down  the  James,  picking  up  the 
water  for  miles  and  hurling  it  at  Gadabout, 
our  only  consolation  lay  in  knowing  that  it 
could  not  have  done  that  if  we  had  only  got 
there  two  or  three  centuries  earlier.  At  that 
time,  the  point,  or  headland,  upon  which  the 
colonists  landed  reached  out  and  protected 
this  shallow  bay  below.  Doubtless,  through- 
out James  Towne  days,  the  smaller  vessels 
found  fair  harbour  where  Gadabout  one  night 
rolled  many  of  her  possessions  into  fragments, 
and  her  proud  commander  into  something 
very  weak  and  wan  and  unhappy. 

In  the  last  few  years,  there  has  been  an 
awakening  of  interest  in  long-forgotten  James 

89 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Towne.  To  Mrs.  Edward  E.  Barney  for  her 
generous  gift  of  the  southwest  corner  of  the 
island  to  the  Association  for  the  Preservation 
of  Virginia  Antiquities,  and  to  that  Society 
for  its  work  in  staying  the  course  of  decay 
and  the  hand  of  vandalism,  our  country  is 
indebted. 

The  recent  researches  of  Mr.  Samuel  H. 
Yonge  too  have  added  new  interest.  It  had 
long  been  supposed  that  almost  the  entire  site 
of  the  ancient  village  was  lost  in  the  river. 
Mr.  Yonge  has  shown  that  in  fact  but  a  small 
part  of  it  is  gone.  He  has  even  located  on 
the  island  the  exact  sites  of  so  many  of  the 
more  important  village  buildings  that,  it  is 
said,  old  James  Towne  could  be  practically 
reproduced  in  wood  and  brick  from  his  map, 
based  upon  the  ancient  records. 

To  verify  his  work,  Mr.  Yonge  undertook 
(in  1903)  to  discover  the  buried  ruins  of  a 
certain  row  of  buildings  that  the  records  de- 
scribed as  made  up  of  a  State-house,  a  "  coun- 
try house,"  and  three  dwellings.  The  search 
was  begun  with  a  steel  probe,  which  struck 
the  hidden  foundations  within  twenty-five  feet 
of  their  position  as  indicated  on  his  plat. 
Then  the  Association  began  excavating;  the 
foundations  were  uncovered,  and  are  now 
among  the  things  to  see  on  the  island. 

90 


ONE   OF   THE    EARLIEST   EXCAVATIONS. 


HUNTING    FOR    THE    FIRST    STATE    HOUSE. 


GOOD-BYE  TO   OLD   JAMES  TOWNE 

As  Mr.  Yonge's  map  shows  the  larger  part 
of  the  site  of  James  Towne  to  be  lying  to 
the  east  of  the  church  tower  and  outside  of 
the  A.  P.  V.  A.  grounds,  the  Daughter  of  the 
Island  was  interested  too  in  seeing  what  probe 
and  pick  and  shovel  could  do. 

It  was  at  one  of  James  Towne's  old  homes 
that  we  next  met  her.  The  meeting,  judging 
from  our  map  of  the  village,  was  probably  at 
Captain  Roger  Smith's,  though  one  could  not 
be  sure.  There  was  no  name  on  the  door,  nor 
indeed  any  door  to  put  a  name  on,  nor  in- 
deed any  house  to  put  a  door  on  —  just  an 
ancient  basement  that  the  Daughter  of  the 
Island  had  discovered  and  was  having  cleaned 
out.  It  badly  needed  it,  nothing  of  the  kind 
having  been  done  perhaps  for  over  two  hun- 
dred years. 

"  Come  and  see  my  find,"  she  cried. 

The  testing  probe  having  struck  something 
that  indicated  a  buried  foundation,  there  in 
the  black  pea  field,  this  young  antiquarian 
had  put  men  at  work  and  was  being  rewarded 
by  finding  the  ruins  of  some  ancient  house. 
Portions  of  two  rooms  had  been  disclosed 
and  the  stairway  leading  down  into  one  of 
them. 

"  Come  down  the  stairs,"  said  the  proud 
lady  in  the  cellar. 

91 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

"Oh,   what   narrow    steps!"    Nautica    ex- 
claimed. 

*  They  used  to  build  out  those  brick  treads 
with  wood  to  make  them  wider,"  explained 
our  hostess.  '  You  can  see  where  the  wooden 
parts  have  been  burned  away." 

The  two  rooms  were  paved  with  brick,  and 
in  one  a  chimney-place  had  come  to  light. 
Everywhere  were  bits  of  charred  wood.  Did 
no  place  in  James  Towne  escape  the  scourge 
of  fire?  A  kitten  came  springing  over  the 
mounds  of  excavated  earth  and  began  to 
prowl  about  the  old  fireplace.  Except  for  a 
skittish  pebble  that  she  chased  across  the 
empty  front,  she  found  nothing  of  interest; 
no  hint  of  savoury  odours  from  the  great  spit 
over  the  blazing  logs  that  may  have  caused 
a  James  Towne  cat  to  sit  and  gaze  and  sniff 
some  two  centuries  or  more  ago. 

But  we  suddenly  left  the  frivolous  kitten 
upon  being  told  of  what  had  been  found  in 
the  other  room  just  before  we  came.  It  was 
a  heavy  earthen  pot  sunk  below  the  floor. 
We  crouched  about  it  with  great  interest, 
chiefly  because  we  did  not  know  what  it  was 
for.  Perhaps  it  was  merely  to  collect  the 
drainage.  Anyway  it  was  not  what  the 
Daughter  of  the  Island  had  fondly  thought 
when  it  was  first  uncovered. 

92 


GOOD-BYE    TO    OLD    JAMES   TOWNE 

"  I  was  sure,"  she  laughed,  "  that  I  had 
found  a  pot  of  money." 

Standing  down  there  in  the  ruins  we  won- 
dered what  was  the  story  of  the  old  house. 
What  feet  had  trod  those  paved  floors? 
What  had  those  walls  seen  and  kno\vn  of 
being  and  loving,  of  hopes  and  fears,  of  joys 
and  griefs,  of  life  and  death?  Of  all  this  the 
uncovered  ruin  told  nothing. 

While  we  were  at  the  island,  three  or  four 
excavations  were  made  and  we  watched  them 
all  with  interest.  When  the  steel  probe  had 
located  the  ruin,  the  digging  and  the  excite- 
ment began.  Slowly  the  buried  walls  came  to 
light.  Within  the  walls  was  usually  a  mass 
of  debris  to  be  thrown  out  —  bricks  of  vari- 
ous sizes,  shapes,  and  colours;  cakes  of  the 
ancient  shell  lime;  pieces  of  charred  wood, 
and  relics  of  all  sorts.  Some  of  the  bricks 
were  quite  imperfectly  made  and  had  a  green- 
ish hue.  We  supposed  them  to  be  the  oldest 
ones  and  to  have  been  baked  or  dried  in  the 
sun  before  the  colonists  had  kilns.  Some  of 
them  had  indentations  that  were  evidently 
finger  imprints. 

"  I  wants  to  fin'  dey  ole  papahs,"  said  big 
John,  digging  heartily.  "  Dis  hyer  is  a  his- 
toyacal  ole  place;  an'  I  rathah  fin'  a  box  of 
dey  ole  papahs  than  three  hunderd  dollahs." 

93 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Among  the  coloured  people  was  an  un- 
quenchable hope  of  finding  a  pot  full  of 
money. 

It  was  a  most  interesting  experience  to  sit 
in  the  brick  rubbish  and  watch  for  the  queer 
little  relics  that  were  thrown  out  now  and 
then.  No  great  finds  were  made,  but  the 
small  ones  did  very  well.  There  appeared 
an  endless  number  of  pieces  of  broken  pot- 
tery; and  the  design  of  a  blue  dog  chasing 
a  blue  fox  was  evidently  a  popular  one  for 
such  ware  in  James  Towne. 

But  where  was  the  blue  dog's  head?  The 
question  grew  to  be  an  absorbing  one.  Each 
handful  of  dirt  began  or  ended  with  a  wrong 
piece  of  the  blue  dog  mixed  with  bits  of  brass 
and  iron  and  pottery  that  brought  vividly  to 
mind  the  scenes  and  the  folk  of  that  vanished 
village.  Handful  after  handful  of  dirt  ran 
through  our  fingers  like  hourglass  sands  of 
ancient  days,  and  the  clicking  relics  were  left 
in  our  hands  in  the  quest  of  the  blue  dog's 
head. 

And  this  was  the  way  things  went.  A 
piece  of  a  bowl  bearing  most  of  the  blue  dog's 
tail;  a  woman's  spur,  gilt  and  broken,  worn 
when  merry  eyes  peeped  through  silken  riding 
masks;  a  bit  of  Indian  pottery  with  basketry 
marks  upon  it;  a  blue  fox  and  the  fore  legs 

94 


GOOD-BYE   TO   OLD   JAMES  TOWNE 

of  the  blue  dog ;  a  shoe-buckle,  silver  too  — 
must  have  been  people  of  "  qualitye  "  here; 
a  piece  of  a  cream  white  cup  that  may  have 
been  a  "  lily  pot "  such  as  the  colonist  kept 
his  pipe  tobacco  in;  pieces  and  pieces  of  the 
blue  dog,  but  never  a  bit  of  a  head;  a  tiny 
red  pipe  and  a  piece  of  a  white  one  —  so  that 
must  have  been  a  "  lily  pot " ;  a  door  key, 
some  rusty  scissors,  and  a  blue  head  —  of  the 
fox;  glass  beads,  blue  beads,  such  as  John 
Smith  told  Powhatan  were  worn  by  great 
kings,  thus  obtaining  a  hundred  bushels  of 
corn  for  a  handful  of  the  beads;  a  pewter 
spoon,  a  bent  thimble,  and  a  whole  blue  dog 
—  no,  his  miserable  head  was  off. 

We  never  became  discouraged  and  are 
quite  sure  yet  that  we  should  have  found  the 
blue  dog's  head  if  we  could  have  gone  on 
searching.  But  by  this  time  the  summer  was 
waning,  and  on  up  the  river  was  much  yet 
for  Gadabout  to  see.  It  was  a  long  visit  that 
we  had  made  at  the  island,  yet  one  that  had 
grown  in  interest  as  in  days.  Indeed  only 
in  the  passing  of  many  days  could  such  in- 
terest come  —  could  old  James  To\vne  so 
seem  to  live  again. 

Lingeringly  we  had  dreamed  along  its  for- 
gotten ways,  by  its  ruined  hearthstones,  and 
among  its  nameless  tombs;  and  so  dreaming 

9d 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

had  seemed  to  draw  close  to  the  little  old- 
time  hamlet  and  to  the  scenes  of  hope  and 
of  fear,  of  joy  and  of  despair,  that  had 
marked  the  planting  of  our  race  in  America. 
Now,  on  the  last  evening  of  our  stay  at  the 
island,  we  walked  again  the  familiar  paths; 
looked  for  the  hundredth  time  down  the  great 
brown  river  that  had  borne  our  people  to  this 
place  of  beginning;  stood  once  more  beside 
the  graveyard  wall;  then  started  toward  the 
houseboat,  turning  for  a  last  look  at  the 
broken  church  tower  and  to  bid  good  night 
and  good-bye  to  old  James  Towne. 


CHAPTER   X 

A   SHORT   SAIL   AND   AN    OLD   ROMANCE 

NEXT  day,  bustling  about  with  making  all 
things  shipshape,  we  could  scarcely  realize 
that  we  were  actually  getting  under  way 
again.  But  when  our  mooring-lines  were 
hauled  in,  Gadabout  backed  away  from  her 
old  friend,  the  bridge,  swung  around  in  the 
narrow  marsh-channel,  and  soon  carried  us 
from  Back  River  out  into  the  James. 

And  by  this  time  how  impressed  we  had 
become  with  the  significance  of  that  wide, 
brown  flood  —  that  Nestor  of  American  riv- 
ers! When  is  the  James  to  find  its  rightful 
place  in  American  song  and  story?  Our  old- 
est colonial  waterway  —  upon  whose  banks  the 
foundations  of  our  country  were  laid,  along 
whose  shores  our  earliest  homes  and  home- 
sites  can  still  be  pointed  out  —  and  yet  al- 
most without  a  place  in  our  literature.  Other 
rivers,  historically  lesser  rivers,  have  had  their 
stories  told  again  and  again,  their  beauties 
lauded,  and  their  praises  sung.  But  this  great 

97 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

pioneer  waterway,  fit  theme  for  an  ode,  is 
to-day  our  unsung  river. 

Gadabout,  with  the  wind  in  her  favour  and 
all  the  buoys  leaning  her  way,  made  good 
progress.  It  was  not  long  before  we  were 
looking  back  catching  the  last  glimpses  of 
the  white  sea-wall  of  Jamestown  Island. 

We  now  were  on  our  way  to  pick  up  other 
bits  of  the  river  story,  and  especially  those 
concerning  the  peculiar  colonial  home  life  on 
the  James.  When  tobacco  culture,  with  its 
ceaseless  demand  for  virgin  soil,  led  many 
of  the  colonists  to  abandon  James  Towne  and 
to  build  up  great  individual  estates,  each  es- 
tate had  to  have  its  water  front;  and  old 
Powhatan  became  lined  on  both  sides  with 
vast  plantations.  Later,  the  lands  along 
other  rivers  were  similarly  occupied.  So  pro- 
nounced was  the  development  of  plantation 
life  that  it  affected,  even  controlled,  the  char- 
acter of  the  colony  and  determined  the  type 
of  civilization  in  Virginia. 

The  great  estates  became  so  many  inde- 
pendent, self-sufficient  communities  —  almost 
kingdoms.  Each  had  its  own  permanent  pop- 
ulation including,  besides  slaves  and  common 
labourers,  many  mechanics,  carpenters,  coop- 
ers, and  artisans  of  various  kinds.  An  un- 
broken water  highway  stretched  from  each 

98 


A   SHORT   SAIL  AND   AN   OLD   ROMANCE 

plantation  wharf  to  the  wharves  of  London. 
Directly  from  his  own  pier,  each  planter 
shipped  his  tobacco  to  England;  and  in  re- 
turn there  was  unloaded  upon  his  own  pier 
the  commodities  needed  for  his  plantation 
community. 

Thus  was  established  the  peculiar  type  of 
Virginia  society,  the  aristocracy  of  planters, 
that  dotted  the  Old  Dominion  with  lordly 
manor-houses  and  filled  them  with  gay,  ample 
life  —  a  life  almost  feudal  in  its  pride  and 
power.  In  this  day  of  our  nation's  tardy 
awakening  to  an  appreciation  of  its  colonial 
homes,  a  particular  interest  attaches  to  these 
old  Virginia  mansions,  once  the  centres  of 
those  proud  little  principalities  in  the  wilder- 
ness. 

And  the  particular  interest  of  Gadabout's 
people,  as  Jamestown  Island  faded  from 
sight,  attached  to  a  few  of  the  earliest  and 
most  typical  of  those  colonial  homes  that  we 
knew  yet  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  "  King's 
River."  From  kindly  responses  to  our  notes 
of  inquiry,  we  also  knew  that  long-suffering 
Virginia  courtesy  was  not  yet  quite  exhausted, 
and  that  it  still  swung  wide  the  doors  of  those 
old  manor-houses  to  even  the  passing  stran- 
ger. Our  next  harbour  was  to  be  Chippoak 
Creek,  which  empties  into  the  river  about 

99 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

twelve  miles  above  Jamestown  Island.  There 
we  should  be  near  two  or  three  colonial  homes 
including  the  well-known  Brandon. 

It  seemed  good  to  be  under  way  again. 
There  wras  music  in  the  chug  of  our  engines 
and  in  the  purl  of  the  water  about  our  homely 
bows.  The  touch  of  the  wind  in  our  faces 
was  tonic,  and  we  could  almost  persuade  our- 
selves that  there  was  fragrance  in  the  occa- 
sional whiffs  of  gasoline. 

We  soon  came  to  an  opening  in  the  shore 
to  starboard  where  the  James  receives  one  of 
its  chief  tributaries,  the  Chickahominy,  mem- 
orable for  its  association  with  the  first  Amer- 
ican romance.  Though  the  tale  is  perhaps  a 
trifle  hackneyed,  yet  the  duty  of  every  good 
American  is  to  listen  whenever  it  is  told.  So 
here  it  is. 

Of  course  the  hero  was  Captain  John 
Smith.  How  that  man  does  brighten  up  the 
record  of  those  old  times!  Well,  one  day  the 
Captain  with  a  small  party  from  James 
Towne  was  hunting  in  the  marshes  of  the 
Chickahominy  for  food,  or  adventure,  or  the 
South  Sea,  or  something,  and  some  Indians 
were  hunting  there  also;  and  the  Indians 
captured  the  Captain.  They  took  him  before 
the  great  chief  Powhatan;  and  as  John  lay 
there,  with  a  large  stone  under  his  head  and 

100 


A   SHORT   SAIL   AND   AN   OLD   ROMANCE 

some  clubs  waving  above  him,  the  general 
impression  was  that  he  was  going  to  die.  But 
that  was  not  John's  way  in  those  days;  he 
was  always  in  trouble  but  he  never  died. 
Suddenly,  just  as  the  clubs  were  about  to 
descend,  soft  arms  were  about  the  Captain's 
head,  and  Pocahontas,  the  favourite  daugh- 
ter of  the  old  chief,  was  pleading  for  the  ever- 
lucky  Smith.  The  dramatic  requirements  of 
the  case  were  apparent  to  everybody.  Pow- 
hatan  spared  the  pale-face;  and  our  country 
had  its  first  romance. 

To  be  sure,  some  people  say  that  all  this 
never  happened.  Indeed  the  growing  skep- 
ticism about  this  precious  bit  of  our  history, 
this  international  romance  that  began  in  the 
marshes  of  the  Chickahominy,  is  our  chief 
reason  for  repeating  it  here.  It  is  time  for 
the  story  to  be  told  by  those  who  can  vouch 
for  it  —  those  who  have  actually  seen  the 
river  that  flows  by  the  marshes  that  the  Cap- 
tain was  captured  in. 

On  we  went  with  tide,  wind,  and  engines 
carrying  us  up  the  James.  Dancing  Point 
reached  sharply  out  as  if  to  intercept  us.  But 
the  owner  of  those  strong  dark  hands  that 
happened  to  be  at  the  wheel  knew  the  story 
of  Dancing  Point  —  of  how  many  an  ebony 
Tarn  O'Shanter  had  seen  ghostly  revelry 

101 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

there;  and  Gadabout  was  held  well  out  in 
the  river. 

Again,  how  completely  we  had  the  James 
to  ourselves!  We  thought  of  how,  even  back 
in  those  old  colonial  days,  our  little  craft 
would  have  had  more  company.  Here,  with 
slender  bows  pushing  down  stream,  the  In- 
dian canoes  went  on  their  way  to  trade  with 
the  settlers  at  James  Towne;  their  cargoes 
varying  with  the  seasons  —  fish  from  their 
weirs  in  the  moon  of  blossoms,  and,  in  the 
moon  of  cohonks,  limp  furred  and  feathered 
things  and  reed-woven  baskets  of  golden 
maize.  Returning,  the  red  men  would  have 
the  axes,  hatchets,  and  strange  articles  that 
the  pale-faces  used,  and  the  cherished  "  blew  " 
beads  that  the  Cape  Merchant  had  given  them 
in  barter. 

Here  sailed  the  little  shallops  of  the  col- 
onists as  they  explored  and  charted  this  un- 
known land.  A  few  years  later  and,  with 
rhythmic  sway  of  black  bodies  and  dip  of 
many  oars,  came  the  barges  of  the  river 
planters.  Right  royally  came  the  lords  of  the 
wilderness  —  members  of  the  Council  per- 
haps, and  in  brave  gold-laced  attire  —  drop- 
ping down  with  the  ebb  tide  to  the  tiny  cap- 
ital in  the  island  marshes.  And  up  the  stream 
came  ships  from  "  London  Towne,'*  spread- 

102 


A   SHORT   SAIL   AND   AN   OLD   ROMANCE 

ing  soft  white  clouds  of  canvas  where  sail  was 
never  seen  before;  and  carrying  past  the 
naked  Indian  in  his  tepee  the  sweet-scented 
powders  and  the  rose  brocade  that  the  weed 
of  his  peace-pipe  had  bought  for  the  Lady 
of  the  Manor. 

Now,  Gadabout  began  to  sidle  toward  the 
port  bank  of  the  river  as  our  next  harbour, 
Chippoak  Creek,  was  on  that  side.  Here  the 
shore  grew  steep;  and  at  one  point  high  up 
we  caught  glimpses  of  the  little  village  of 
Claremont.  At  its  pier  lay  a  three-masted 
schooner  and  several  barges  and  smaller  boats. 
Along  the  water's  edge  were  mills,  their 
steam  and  smoke  drifting  lazily  across  the 
face  of  the  bluffs. 

On  a  little  farther,  we  came  to  the  mouth 
of  Chippoak  Creek  with  the  bluffs  of  Clare- 
mont on  one  hand,  the  sweeping,  wooded 
shores  of  Brandon  on  the  other,  and,  in  be- 
tween, a  beautiful  expanse  of  water,  wide 
enough  for  a  river  and  possibly  deep  enough 
for  a  heavy  dew.  We  scurried  for  chart 
and  sounding-pole.  Following  the  narrow, 
crooked  channel  indicated  on  the  chart,  we 
worked  our  way  well  into  the  mouth  of  the 
stream  and  cast  anchor  near  a  point  of  woods. 
From  the  chart  we  could  tell  that  somewhere 
beyond  that  forest  wall,  over  near  the  bank 

103 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

of  the  river,  was  the  old  manor-house  that 
we  had  come  chiefly  to  see  —  Brandon,  one 
of  America's  most  noted  colonial  homes. 

Next  morning  we  were  ready  for  a  visit 
to  Brandon.  But  first,  we  had  to  let  the 
sailor  make  a  foraging  trip  to  the  village. 
One  of  the  troubles  about  living  in  a  home 
that  wanders  on  the  waters,  is  that  each  time 
you  change  anchorage  you  must  hunt  up  new 
places  for  getting  things  and  getting  things 
done. 

While  it  is  charming  to  drop  anchor  every 
now  and  then  in  a  snug,  new  harbour,  where 
Nature,  as  she  tucks  you  in  with  woodland 
green,  has  smiles  and  graces  that  you  never 
saw  before,  yet  the  houseboater  soon  learns 
that  each  delightful,  new-found  pocket  in  the 
watery  world  means  necessity  for  several 
other  new-found  things.  There  must  be  a 
new-found  washerwoman,  and  new-found 
somebodies  who  can  supply  meats,  eggs,  vege- 
tables, ice,  milk,  and  water  —  the  last  two 
separate  if  possible.  True,  the  little  harbour 
is  beautiful;  but  as  you  lie  there  day  after 
day  watching  waving  trees  and  rippling  water, 
the  soiled -clothes  bags  are  growing  fatter; 
and  then  too,  even  in  the  midst  of  beauty, 
one  wearies  of  a  life  fed  wholly  out  of  tin 
cans. 

104 


ENTRANCE    TO    CHIPPOAK    CREEK. 


COVE    IN    CHIPPOAK    CREEK. 


A   SHORT   SAIL   AND   AN   OLD   ROMANCE 

Henry  was  a  good  forager;  and  we  were 
confident,  as  his  strong  strokes  carried  him 
from  the  houseboat  shoreward,  that  he  would 
soon  put  us  in  touch  with  all  the  necessary 
sources  of  supply,  so  that  in  the  afternoon 
we  could  make  our  visit  to  the  old  manor- 
house.  And  he  did  not  fail  us.  His  little 
boat  came  back  well  loaded,  and  he  bore  the 
welcome  news  that  "  Sally "  (whoever  she 
might  be)  would  take  the  washing. 

But  now,  a  matter  of  religion  got  in  be- 
tween us  and  Brandon.  A  launch  came  down 
the  creek;  and,  as  we  were  nearly  out  of 
gasoline,  the  Commodore  hailed  the  craft  and 
made  inquiry  as  to  where  we  could  get  some. 
One  of  the  two  men  aboard  proved  to  deal 
in  gasoline,  and  appeared  to  be  the  only  one 
about  who  did.  He  had  some  of  it  then  on 
the  pier  at  Claremont;  and  would  sell  it  any 
day  in  the  week  except  Saturday.  The  rather 
puzzling  exception  he  explained  by  saying 
that  he  was  a  Seventh-day  Adventist.  To 
be  sure,  it  was  then  only  Thursday;  but  as 
it  seemed  making  up  for  bad  weather  that 
might  prevent  our  running  down  to  the  pier 
next  day,  we  arranged  to  take  on  a  barrel 
of  the  gasoline  that  afternoon. 

We  started  after  a  rather  late  dinner;  and 
ran  back  down  the  river  to  where  we  had 

105 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

seen  the  schooner  and  the  barges  the  day 
before.  Just  as  the  Commodore  made  a  nice, 
soft-bump  landing  at  the  pier,  a  man  in- 
formed him  that  the  gasoline  had  been  car- 
ried to  the  Adventist's  mill  by  mistake.  So, 
we  cast  off  our  ropes  again,  and  went  farther 
down  to  where  the  little  mills  steamed  away 
at  the  foot  of  the  bluffs. 

Off  shore,  several  sloops  and  rowboats  were 
tied  to  tall  stakes  in  the  water.  We  went 
as  close  to  shore  as  we  dared;  and  Gadabout 
crept  cautiously  up  to  one  of  the  stakes,  so 
as  not  to  knock  it  over,  and  was  tied  to  it. 
Then,  the  Commodore  went  ashore  and  ar- 
ranged to  have  the  gasoline  brought  out  to 
us. 

Presently,  two  negroes  rolled  the  barrel 
into  a  lighter.  They  poled  their  awkward 
craft  out  to  Gadabout  and  made  fast  to  a 
cleat.  It  took  a  long  time  to  pump  the  gasoline 
into  cans,  and  then  to  strain  it  into  our  tank 
on  the  upper  deck.  The  day  was  about  over. 
Relinquishing  our  plan  of  visiting  Brandon, 
we  ran  back  to  our  Chippoak  harbour,  and 
our  anchor  went  to  bed  in  the  creek  as  the 
sun  went  down. 


106 


CHAPTER   XI 

AT   THE    PIER   MARKED    "  BRANDON  " 

IT  was  late  on  the  following  afternoon 
when  Gadabout  was  out  of  the  creek,  out  in 
the  river,  and  bound  for  the  little  pier  marked 
Brandon. 

A  belated  steamboat  was  swashing  down 
stream,  and  a  schooner,  having  but  little  of 
wind  and  less  of  tide  to  help  it  along,  was 
rocking  listlessly  in  the  long  swell.  In  the 
shadow  of  the  slack  sails  a  man  sprawled 
upon  the  schooner's  deck,  while  against  the 
old-fashioned  tiller  another  leaned  lazily. 

Gadabout  had  to  make  quite  a  detour  to 
get  around  some  shad -net  poles  before  she 
could  head  in  toward  the  Brandon  wharf; 
and  her  roundabout  course  gave  time  for  a 
thought  or  two  upon  the  famous  old  river 
plantation. 

Starting  but  a  few  years  after  those  first 
colonists  landed  at  Jamestown  Island,  the 
story  of  Brandon  is  naturally  a  long  one. 
But,  working  on  the  scale  of  a  few  words  to 
a  century,  we  may  get  the  gist  of  it  in  here. 

107 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION' 

Among  those  first  settlers  was  one  Captain 
John  Martin,  a  considerable  figure  of  those 
days  and  a  member  of  the  Council  appointed 
by  the  King  for  the  government  of  the  col- 
ony. He  seems  to  have  been  the  only  man 
who  believed  in  holding  on  at  James  Towne 
after  the  horrors  of  the  "  Starving  Time." 
He  made  vigorous  protest  when  the  settlers 
took  to  the  ships  and  abandoned  the  settle- 
ment. 

About  1616,  he  secured  a  grant  of  several 
thousand  acres  of  land  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  this  creek  that  we  were  now  lying  in,  and 
the  estate  became  known  as  Brandon -- Mar- 
tin's Brandon.  The  terms  of  the  grant  were 
so  unusually  favourable  that  they  came  near 
making  the  Captain  a  little  lord  in  the  wil- 
derness. He  was  to  "  enjoye  his  landes  in 
as  large  and  ample  manner  to  all  intentes 
and  purposes  as  any  Lord  of  any  Manours  in 
England  dothe  holde  his  grounde."  And  he 
certainly  started  out  to  do  it. 

But  soon  the  General  Assembly  attacked 
the  lordly  prerogatives  of  the  owner  of  Mar- 
tin's Brandon.  It  did  not  relish  the  idea  of 
making  laws  for  everybody  in  the  colony  ex- 
cept John  Martin,  and  he  was  requested  to 
relinquish  certain  of  his  high  privileges.  This 
he  refused  to  do,  saying,  "  I  hold  my  patente 

108 


AT   THE    PIER   MARKED    "BRANDON" 

for  my  service  don,  which  noe  newe  or  late 
comers  can  meritt  or  challenge."  After  a 
while,  however,  he  was  induced  to  surrender 
the  objectionable  "  parte  of  his  patente,"  and 
manorial  Brandon  became  like  any  other 
great  estate  in  the  colony. 

After  several  changes  of  ownership,  Bran- 
don came  into  the  possession  of  another  prom- 
inent colonial  family,  the  Harrisons.  The 
founder  of  this  Virginia  house  (the  various 
branches  of  which  have  given  us  so  many 
men  prominent  in  our  colonial  and  national 
life)  was  Benjamin  Harrison,  one  of  the 
early  settlers,  a  large  land  holder,  and  a 
member  of  the  Council.  His  son  Benjamin 
(also  a  man  of  position  in  the  colony  and  a 
member  of  the  Council)  was  probably  the 
first  of  the  family  to  hold  lands  at  Brandon. 

But  it  was  not  until  the  third  generation 
that  the  Harrisons  became  thoroughly  iden- 
tified with  the  two  great  plantations  that  have 
ever  since  been  associated  with  the  name ;  Ben- 
jamin Harrison,  the  third,  acquiring  Berke- 
ley, and  his  brother  Nathaniel  completing  the 
acquisition  of  the  broad  acres  of  Brandon. 
Berkeley  passed  to  strangers  many  years  ago ; 
but  Brandon  has  come  down  through  un- 
broken succession  from  the  Harrisons  of  over 
two  centuries  ago  to  the  Harrisons  of  to-day. 

109 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

That  makes  a  great  many  Harrisons.  And 
as  it  happened,  while  Gadabout  was  on  her 
way  that  day  to  visit  their  ancestral  home, 
a  genealogical  chart  with  its  maze  of  family 
ramifications  was  lying  on  a  table  in  the  for- 
ward cabin,  and  Henry  saw  it. 

'King's  sake!"  he  exclaimed.  'That 
must  be  the  host  they  couldn't  count.  Don't 
you  know  John  say  how  he  saw  a  host  no 
man  could  number?  That's  cert'nly  them!" 

As  we  approached  the  Brandon  pier,  we 
saw  a  man  on  it  who  proved  to  be  the  gar- 
dener and  who  helped  to  handle  our  ropes  as 
we  made  our  landing.  Then,  with  the  aid 
of  a  beautiful  collie,  he  led  us  up  the  slope 
toward  the  still  invisible  homestead. 

Entering  the  wooded  grounds  through 
quaint,  old-fashioned  gateways,  we  followed 
our  guide  along  a  trail  that  topped  the  river 
bluff,  where  honeysuckle  ran  riot  in  the  shrub- 
bery and  tumbled  in  confusion  to  the  beach 
below.  The  trail  ended  in  a  cleared  spot  on 
the  crest  of  the  bluff  —  a  river  lookout,  where 
one  could  rest  upon  the  rustic  seat  and  enjoy 
the  ever-varying  picture  of  water,  sky,  and 
shore. 

But  we  turned  our  backs  upon  it  all,  for  to 
us  it  was  not  yet  Brandon.  Now,  our  course 
lay  directly  away  from  the  river  along  a 

110 


Riverward  Front  of  Brandon 


AT   THE    PIER   MARKED   "BRANDON" 

broad  avenue  of  yielding  turf,  straight 
through  an  aged  garden.  Above  were  the 
arching  boughs  of  giant  trees;  below  and  all 
about,  a  wealth  of  old-fashioned  bloom.  The 
sunlight  drifted  through  shadowing  fringe- 
trees,  mimosas,  magnolias,  and  oaks.  Hoary 
old  age  marked  the  garden  in  the  breadth  of 
the  box,  in  the  height  of  the  slow-growing 
yews,  and  in  the  denseness  of  the  ivy  that 
swathed  the  great-girthed  trees.  It  all  lay 
basking  in  the  soft,  mellow  light  of  sunset, 
in  the  hush  of  coming  twilight,  like  some 
garden  of  sleep. 

Suddenly,  the  grove  and  the  garden  ended 
and  we  were  over  the  threshold  of  a  square 
of  sward,  an  out-of-door  reception  room,  no 
tree  or  shrub  encroaching.  Beyond  this  was 
a  row  of  sentinel  trees;  and  then  a  massive 
hedge  of  box  with  a  break  in  the  middle 
where  stood  the  white  portal  of  Brandon. 
We  could  tell  little  about  the  building.  The 
eye  could  catch  only  a  charming  confusion: 
foliage-broken  lines  of  wall  and  roof;  ivy- 
framed  windows;  and,  topping  all,  just  above 
the  deep  green  of  a  magnolia  tree,  the  white 
carved  pineapple  of  welcome  and  hospital- 
ity. 

In  the  softened  light  of  evening,  the  charm 
of  the  place  was  upon  us  —  old  Brandon, 

111 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

standing  tree-shadowed  and  dim,  its  storied 
walls  in  time-toned  tints,  its  seams  and  cran- 
nies traced  in  the  greens  of  moss  and  lichen, 
its  ancient  air  suggestive,  secretive, 

"  In  green  old  gardens  hidden  away 
From  sight  of  revel  and  sound  of  strife." 

We  entered  a  large,  dusky  hall  with  white 
pillars  and  arches  midway,  and  with  two 
rooms  opening  off  from  it  —  the  dining-room 
on  the  one  hand,  the  drawing-room  on  the 
other.  In  the  old  chimney-pieces,  fire  leaped 
behind  quaint  andirons  taking  the  chill  from 
the  evening  air. 

And  there  in  the  dusk  and  the  fire-glow, 
where  shadows  half  hid  and  half  revealed, 
where  old  mahogany  now  loomed  dark  and 
now  flashed  back  the  flickering  light,  where 
old-time  worthies  fitfully  came  and  wrent  upon 
the  shadowy,  panelled  walls  —  we  made  our 
acquaintance  with  Brandon  and  with  the 
gracious  lady  of  the  manor.  Our  talk  ran 
one  with  the  hour  and  the  dusk  and  the  fire- 
light —  old  days,  old  ways,  and  all  that  Bran- 
don stands  for. 

When  our  twilight  call  was  over,  it  was 
with  dreamy  thoughts  on  the  far  days  of 
Queen  Anne  and  of  the  Georges  that  we 

112 


AT   THE    PIER   MARKED    "BRANDON" 

went  from  the  white -pillared  portico  down 
the  worn  stone  steps  and  followed  a  side  path 
back  toward  our  boat.  In  the  gloaming  the 
side-lights  were  being  put  in  place,  and  Gad- 
about turned  a  baleful  green  eye  upon  us,  as 
though  overhearing  our  talk  of  such  unnau- 
tical  things  as  gardens  and  heirlooms  and 
ancestral  halls. 

Next  morning  there  was  much  puffing  of 
engines  and  ringing  of  signal  bells  down  in 
Chippoak  Creek.  Gadabout  went  ahead  and 
backed  and  sidled.  And  it  was  all  to  find  a 
new  way  to  go  to  Brandon.  Mrs.  Harrison 
had  told  us  of  a  landing-place  in  the  woods 
at  the  creek  side  from  which  a  sort  of  road- 
way led  to  the  house.  Fortunately,  our  charts 
indicated,  near  this  landing,  a  small  depres- 
sion in  the  bed  of  the  creek  where  there  would 
be  sufficient  depth  of  water  for  our  house- 
boat to  float  even  at  low  tide.  At  last,  we 
got  over  the  flats  and  into  the  hole  in  the 
bottom  of  the  creek  that  seemed  to  have  been 
made  for  us. 

We  rowed  ashore  to  a  yellow  crescent  of 
sandy  beach  shaded  by  cypresses  where  a 
cart-path  led  off  through  the  woods.  We 
called  it  the  woods-way  to  Brandon.  It  fol- 
lowed the  shore  of  the  creek  a  little  way,  and 
through  the  leafy  screen  we  caught  glimpses 

113 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

of  Gadabout  out  in  the  stream,  now  with  a 
cone-tipped  branch  of  pine  and  again  with  a 
star-leaved  limb  of  sweet  gum  for  a  fore- 
ground setting. 

Farther  along  were  many  dogwood  trees; 
and  in  the  springtime  these  woods  must  be 
dotted  with  those  white  blossom-tents  that  so 
charmed  the  first  settlers  on  their  way  up  the 
river.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  we  came  upon 
the  trailing  cedar  spreading  its  feathery  car- 
pet under  the  trees.  Ferns  lifted  their  fronds 
in  thick,  wavy  clusters.  The  freshness  from 
a  night  storm  was  upon  every  growing  thing; 
a  clearing  northwest  wind  was  in  the  tree- 
tops;  and  the  air  was  filled  with  the  spicy 
sweetness  of  the  woodland. 

The  way  led  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  trees 
into  the  open,  and  we  came  upon  "  the  quar- 
ters "  —  long,  low  buildings  with  patches  of 
corn  and  sweet  potatoes  about  them.  Two 
coloured  women  were  digging  in  the  gardens 
and  another  was  busy  over  an  out-of-door 
washtub.  A  group  of  picaninnies  played 
about  a  steaming  kettle  swung  upon  a  cross- 
stick  above  an  open-air  fire.  One  fat  brown 
baby  sat  in  a  doorway  poking  a  pudgy  thumb 
into  a  saucer  of  food  and  keeping  very  watch- 
ful eyes  on  the  strangers.  Beyond  the  quar- 
ters were  barns  and  some  small  houses. 

114 


AT   THE   PIER   MARKED   "BRANDON" 

And  here  was  our  first  reminder  of  a  dis- 
tressing chapter  in  the  story  of  Brandon. 
We  knew  that  but  few  of  these  buildings 
were  old-time  outbuildings  of  the  estate.  The 
Civil  War  bore  hard  upon  this  as  upon  other 
homes  along  the  James.  It  left  little  upon 
the  plantation  except  the  old  manor-house  it- 
self, and  that  injured  and  defaced. 

On  ahead,  we  could  see  the  great  grove 
in  which  the  manor-house  stands,  looming  up 
in  the  midst  of  the  cleared  land  like  a  small 
forest  reservation.  Our  route  this  time 
brought  us  to  the  homestead  from  the  land- 
ward side  through  an  open  park,  and  we  got 
a  better  view  of  the  building  than  the  dense 
foliage  on  the  other  side  had  permitted.  The 
house  is  of  the  long  colonial  type,  consisting 
of  a  square  central  building,  two  large  flank- 
ing wings,  and  two  .connecting  corridors.  It 
is  built  of  brick  laid  in  Flemish  bond,  showing 
a  broken  pattern  of  glazed  headers.  Each 
front  has  its  wide  central  porch  and  double- 
door  entranceway. 

The  emblem  of  hospitality  that  tops  the 
central  roof  is  truly  characteristic  of  the  spirit 
within.  Old  colonial  worthies,  foreign  dig- 
nitaries, presidents  and  their  cabinets,  house- 
parties  of  "  Virginia  cousins,"  and  "  strangers 
within  the  gates  "  —  all  have  known  the  open 

115 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

hospitality  of  Brandon.  And  the  two  latest 
strangers  now  moved  on  assured  of  kindly 
welcome  at  the  doorway. 

Entering  Brandon  from  the  landward 
front,  we  found  ourselves  again  in  the  large 
central  hall.  It  is  divided  midway  by  arches 
resting  on  fluted  Ionic  columns  and  has  a 
fine  example  of  the  colonial  staircase.  This 
hall  and  the  drawing-room  and  the  dining- 
room  on  either  side  of  it  cover  the  entire 
ground  floor  of  the  central  building.  Offices 
and  bedrooms  occupy  the  wings.  The  rooms 
are  lofty,  and  most  of  them  have  fireplaces 
and  panelled  walls. 

Through  the  east  doorway  one  looks  down 
a  long  vista  to  the  river.  In  the  sunlight  it 
is  striking:  the  shadow's  from  the  dense  foli- 
age before  the  portal  lie  black  upon  the  grass; 
beyond  is  the  stretch  of  sunny  sward;  and 
then  the  turf  walk  under  meeting  boughs,  a 
green  tunnel  through  whose  far  opening  one 
sees  a  bit  of  brown  river  and  perhaps  a  white 
glint  of  sail. 

In  drawing-room  and  dining-room  are 
gathered  numerous  paintings  forming  a  col- 
lection well  known  as  the  Brandon  Gallery. 
It  represents  the  work  of  celebrated  old  court 
painters  and  of  notable  early  American  art- 
ists. 

116 


AT  THE   PIER   MARKED   "BRANDON" 

In  the  drawing-room,  a  canvas  by  Charles 
Wilson  Peale  may  be  regarded  as  the  por- 
trait-host among  the  shadowy  figures  gath- 
ered there,  its  subject  being  Colonel  Ben- 
jamin Harrison.  He  was  friend  and  college 
roommate  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  and  a  mem- 
ber of  the  first  State  Executive  Council  in 
1776.  Against  the  dense  background  is 
shown  a  slender  gentleman  of  the  old  school, 
with  an  intellectual,  kindly  face  and  express- 
ive eyes. 

About  him  is  a  distinguished  gathering  - 
dames  and  damsels  in  rich  attire  and  languid 
elegance;    gallants  and  nobles  in  court  cos- 
tume  and    dashing   pose,   jewelled   hand    on 
jewelled  sword. 

In  the  dining-room,  the  portrait  hostess  is 
found,  the  wife  of  the  Colonel  Harrison  who 
presides  in  the  drawing-room.  She  was  the 
granddaughter  of  the»noted  colonial  exquisite 
and  man  of  letters,  Colonel  William  Byrd, 
whose  old  home,  Westover,  we  should  soon 
visit  on  our  way  up  the  river.  It  was  through 
her  marriage  to  Colonel  Harrison  that  there 
were  added  to  the  Brandon  collection  many 
of  the  paintings  and  other  art  treasures  of 
the  Byrd  family,  including  a  certain,  well- 
known  canvas  that  carries  a  story  with  it. 

It  is  an  old,  old  story  —  indeed  the  paint- 
117 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

ing  itself  is  dimmed  by  the  passing  of  nearly 
two  centuries;  but  just  as  the  sweet  face  looks 
out  from  its  frame  ever  girlish,  so  does  per- 
ennial youth  seem  to  dwell  in  the  romance 
of  the  "  Fair  Maid  of  the  James."  The  por- 
trait is  by  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller.  It  shows 
a  beautiful  young  woman.  Her  gray-blue 
gown  is  cut  in  a  stiff,  long-waisted  style  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  yet  still  showing  the 
slim  grace  of  the  maiden.  The  head  is  dain- 
tily poised.  A  red  rose  is  in  her  hair  and 
one  dark  curl  falls  across  a  white  shoulder. 
Her  face  is  oval  and  delicately  tinted.  She 
follows  you  with  her  soft,  brown  eyes,  and 
her  lips  have  the  thought  of  a  smile. 

Such  was  the  colonial  beauty,  Evelyn  Byrd, 
daughter  of  Colonel  William  Byrd.  Though 
her  home  was  not  here  but  at  Westover,  and 
there  she  sleeps  under  her  altar-tomb,  yet  the 
girlish  presence  seems  at  Brandon  too,  where 
the  winsome  face  looks  down  from  the  wall, 
and  where  we  must  pause  to  tell  her  story. 

This  Virginia  girl  was  educated  in  London 
where  she  had  most  of  her  social  triumphs. 
There  she  was  presented  at  court  and  there 
began  the  pitiful  romance  of  her  life  in  her 
meeting  with  Charles  Mordaunt.  In  all 
youth's  happy  heedlessness  these  two  fell  in 
love  —  the  daughter  of  "  the  baron  of  the 

118 


AT   THE    PIER   MARKED    "BRANDON" 

James  "  and  the  grandson  and  heir  of  Lon- 
don's social  leader,  Lord  Peterborough. 

It  seemed  a  pretty  knot  of  Cupid's  tying; 
but  just  here  William  Byrd  cast  himself  in 
the  role  of  Fate.  Some  say  because  of  relig- 
ious differences,  some  say  because  of  an  old 
family  feud,  he  refused  to  permit  the  mar- 
riage. He  brought  his  daughter  back  to  Vir- 
ginia where,  as  the  old  records  say,  "  refusing 
all  offers  from  other  gentlemen,  she  died  of 
a  broken  heart." 

That  day  when  we  left  the  manor-house, 
we  started  homeward,  or  boatward,  with  our 
faces  set  the  wrong  way;  for  we  wandered 
first  into  the  old  garden. 

It  is  a  typical  colonial  garden  that  lies 
down  by  the  river  —  a  great  roomy  garden 
where  trees  and  fruit  bushes  stand  among  the 
blossoming  shrubs  and  vines  and  plants.  It 
is  a  garden  to  wander  in,  to  sit  in,  to  dream 
in.  All  is  very  quiet  here  and  the  world  seems 
a  great  way  off.  Only  the  birds  come  to  share 
the  beauty  with  you,  and  their  singing  seems 
a  part  of  the  very  peace  and  quiet  of  it  all. 
The  old-fashioned  flowers  are  set  out  in  the 
old-fashioned  way.  There  are  (or  once  were) 
the  prim  squares,  each  with  its  cowslip  border, 
and  the  stiffly  regular  little  hedgerows.  One 
may  hunt  them  all  out  now ;  but  for  so  many 

119 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

generations  have  shrub  and  vine  and  plant 
lived  together  here,  that  a  good  deal  of  for- 
mality has  been  dispensed  with,  and  across 
old  lines  bloom  mingles  with  bloom. 

The  old  garden  calendars  the  seasons  as 
they  come  arid  go.  As  an  early  blossom 
fades,  a  later  one  takes  its  place  through  all 
the  flowery  way  from  crocus  to  aster. 

Trifling,  cold,  and  unfriendly  seem  most 
gardens  of  to-day  in  comparison  with  these 
old-fashioned  ones.  Perhaps  the  entire  dis- 
play in  the  modern  garden  comes  fresh  from 
the  florist  in  the  spring,  and  is  allowed  to 
die  out  in  the  fall,  to  be  replaced  the  next 
spring  by  plants  not  only  new  but  even  of 
different  varieties  from  those  of  the  year  be- 
fore. Not  so  at  Brandon.  Here,  the  garden 
is  one  of  exclusive  old  families.  Its  flower 
people  can  trace  their  pedigrees  back  to  the 
floral  emigrants  from  England.  The  young 
plants  that  may  replace  some  dead  ones  are 
scions  of  the  old  stock.  Strange  blossoms, 
changing  every  spring  like  dwellers  in  a  city 
flat,  would  not  be  in  good  standing  with  the 
blue  flags  that  great-  (many  times  great-) 
grandmother  planted,  nor  with  the  venerable 
peonies  and  day  lilies,  the  lilacs  and  syringas 
that  remember  the  day  when  the  elms  and 
magnolias  above  them  were  puny  saplings. 

120 


AT   THE    PIER   MARKED    "BRANDON" 

Even  a  huge  pecan  tree,  twenty-one  feet 
around,  whose  planting  was  recorded  in  the 
"  plantation  book "  over  a  century  ago,  is 
considered  rather  a  new-comer  by  the  ancient 
family  of  English  cowslips. 

Here  is  restful  permanence  in  this  world 
of  restless  change.  Loved  ones  may  pass 
away,  friends  may  fail,  neighbours  may  come 
and  go;  but  here  in  the  quiet  old  garden, 
the  dear  flower  faces  that  look  up  to  cheer 
are  the  same  that  have  given  heart  and  com- 
fort to  generations  so  remote  that  they  lie 
half -forgotten  beneath  gray,  crumbling  stones 
with  quaint  time-dimmed  inscriptions. 


121 


CHAPTER    XII 

HAEBOUR   DAYS   AND   A   FOGGY   NIGHT 

DAY  after  day,  we  lay  in  our  beautiful  har- 
bour of  Chippoak  Creek  as  the  last  of  the 
summer-time  went  by  and  as  autumn  began 
to  fly  her  bright  signal  flags  in  the  trees  along 
the  shore. 

Sometimes  we  moored  in  the  little  depres- 
sion that  Nature  had  scooped  out  for  us  close 
by  the  Brandon  woods;  sometimes  we  scram- 
bled out  from  it  at  high  tide  and  went  across 
and  cast  anchor  by  the  Claremont  shore. 
Now  and  then  we  would  go  for  a  run  up  the 
creek,  or  out  for  a  while  on  the  broad  James. 

It  is  well  to  stay  in  a  pretty  harbour  long 
enough  to  get  acquainted  with  it.  By  the 
time  we  could  tell  the  stage  of  the  tide  by 
a  glance  at  the  lily  pads,  and  could  get  in 
and  out  over  the  flats  in  the  dark,  and  could 
go  right  to  the  deep  place  in  Brandon  cove 
without  sounding,  we  had  learned  where  the 
late  wild  flowers  grew,  that  the  washing 
would  get  scorched  or.  one  side  of  the  creek 


HARBOUR  DAYS   AND   A  FOGGY  NIGHT 

and  lost  on  the  other,  that  the  best  place  for 
fishing  was  around  behind  the  island,  and 
that  the  Claremont  "  butcher "  had  fresh 
meat  on  Tuesdays  and  Fridays. 

Gradually,  our  neighbours  of  marsh  and 
woodland  lost  their  shyness,  and  some  of  them 
paid  us  the  compliment  of  simply  ignoring 
us.  Most  of  the  blue  herons  flew  high  or 
curved  widely  past  Gadabout  —  long  necks 
stretched  straight  before,  long  legs  stretched 
straight  behind.  But  the  Tragedian  (he  was 
the  longest  and  the  lankest)  minded  us  not 
at  all.  At  the  last  of  the  ebb,  a  snag  over 
near  the  shore  would  suddenly  add  on  another 
angle  and  jab  down  in  the  water,  coming  up 
again  with  a  shiver  and  a  fish.  Then,  it 
would  approach  the  houseboat  and  stalk  the 
waters  beside  our  windows.  The  stage  stride 
of  the  creature  won  for  it  the  name  of  the 
Tragedian.  Knowing  the  shyness  of  his  kind 
we  felt  especially  pleased  by  a  still  further 
proof  of  his  confidence.  One  morning,  in 
response  to  a  cautious  whisper  from  the  sailor, 
we  stole  stealthily  upon  the  after  deck  and 
saw  that  the  Tragedian  was,  truly  enough, 
"  settin'  on  an  awnin'-pole  pickin'  hisself." 

There  was  a  dead  tree  on  our  Brandon 
shore-line.  It  stood  among  tall  pines  and 
sweet  gums  and  beeches  as  far  up  as  they 

123 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

went,  after  that  it  stood  alone  in  the  blue. 
We  called  it  Old  Lookout.  A  bald  eagle 
used  it  for  a  watch-tower.  Lesser  birds  dared 
plume  themselves  up  there  when  the  king  was 
away:  crows  cawed  and  sidled  along  the 
smooth  branches;  hawks  and  buzzards  came 
on  tippy  wing  and  lighted  there;  and  even 
little  birds  perched  pompously  where  the  big 
eagle's  claws  had  been. 

But  when  the  snowy  head  above  the  dark, 
square  shoulders  tipped  Old  Lookout,  the 
national  emblem  had  it  all  to  himself.  Occa- 
sionally he  preened  his  feathers;  but  he  did 
it  in  a  bored,  awkward  way,  as  if  forced  on 
account  of  his  valet's  absence  into  unfamiliar 
details  of  toilet  quite  beneath  his  dignity. 
Now  and  then  he  would  scream.  It  is  hard 
to  believe  that  such  a  bird  can  have  such  a 
voice.  He  always  lost  caste  in  our  eyes  when 
he  had  his  little,  choked-up  penny  whistle 
going. 

The  attractions  of  harbour  life  did  not  keep 
us  away  from  the  old  manor-house.  Once 
when  Gadabout  ran  around  to  the  river  front, 
she  found  a  yacht  from  Philadelphia  at  the 
pier;  and  so  passed  on  a  little  way  and  cast 
anchor  in  a  cove  opposite  the  garden. 

Few  other  notable  houses  in  America,  still 
used  as  homes,  are  the  objects  of  so  many 

124 


HARBOUR   DAYS   AND   A   FOGGY   NIGHT 

pilgrimages  as  the  historic  places  on  the 
James.  Indeed,  few  people  but  the  hospit- 
able Virginians  would  so  frequently  and  so 
courteously  fling  wide  their  doors  to  stran- 
gers. 

When  the  yachting  visitors  were  gone  that 
day  and  we  were  at  the  old  home  engrossed 
in  the  architecture  of  the  Harrison  colonial 
cradle,  there  came  the  long  blasts  of  the 
steamer  Pocahontas  blowing  for  the  Brandon 
landing.  Not  that  she  had  any  passengers 
or  freight  for  Brandon  perhaps,  or  Brandon 
for  her,  but  because  all  these  river  estates  are 
postoffices  and  the  Pocahontas  carries  the 
river  mail.  After  a  considerable  time  (for 
even  the  United  States  mail  moves  slowly 
through  the  sleepy  old  garden),  a  coloured 
boy  brought  in  a  bag  with  most  promising 
knobs  and  bulges  all  over  it. 

The  postoffice  at  Brandon  is  over  in  the 
south  wing  where  there  are  pigeon-holes  and 
desks  and  such  things.  But  the  family  mail 
is  brought  into  the  great  dining-room  and 
there,  in  the  good  plantation  way,  it  is  opened 
on  the  old  mahogany. 

The  mail  that  morning  made  a  very  good 
directory  of  the  present-day  family  at  Bran- 
don. There  were  letters  and  packages  for 
the  mistress  of  the  plantation  and  for  the 

125 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

daughter  and  the  son  living  in  the  manor- 
house  with  her,  and  also  for  the  other  daugh- 
ter and  her  husband,  Mr.  Randolph  Cuyler, 
who  live  across  the  lawn  in  Brandon  Cottage 
with  its  dormer  windows  and  wistaria-draped 
veranda.  Mrs.  Harrison  is  the  widow  of 
Mr.  George  Evelyn  Harrison,  and  the 
daughter  of  the  late  William  Washington 
Gordon,  who  was  the  first  president  of  the 
Central  Railroad  of  Georgia  and  one  of  the 
most  prominent  men  in  that  state. 

Brandon  to-day  keeps  up  correspondence 
with  relatives  and  friends  in  England  and 
on  the  Continent,  reads  English  papers  and 
magazines,  sends  cuttings  from  rosebushes  and 
shrubs  across  seas,  makes  visits  there  and  is 
visited  in  turn.  So,  it  was  pleasant  to  have 
the  reading  of  our  own  welcome  letters  diver- 
sified by  bits  of  foreign  news  that  came  out 
of  the  bag  for  Brandon.  We  could  imagine 
an  expression  of  personal  interest  on  the  hand- 
some face  of  Colonel  Byrd,  as  he  stood  in 
court  costume  on  the  wall  above  us,  when  the 
wrappings  were  taken  from  a  volume  con- 
taining the  correspondence  of  his  old  friend, 
the  Earl  of  Orrery,  and  sent  by  the  present 
Earl  to  Mrs.  Harrison.  In  it  were  some  of 
the  Colonel's  letters  written  from  his  James 
River  home,  and  in  which  he  spoke  of  how 

126 


"VENERABLE  FOUR-POSTERS,  RICHLY  CARVED  AND  DARK. 


HARBOUR   DAYS   AND   A   FOGGY   NIGHT 

his  daughters  missed  the  gaieties  of  the  Eng- 
lish Court.  The  torn  wrappings  and  bits  of 
string  were  gathered  up  and  a  little  blaze  was 
made  of  them  behind  the  old  fire-dogs.  Then 
we  were  shown  more  of  Brandon. 

Up  quaint  staircases  in  the  wings  we  went 
to  the  roomy  bedrooms  with  their  ivy-cased 
windows,  mellow-toned  panelling,  and  old 
open  fireplaces.  As  daily  living  at  Brandon 
is  truly  in  the  paths  of  ancestral  worthies, 
so,  at  night,  there  are  venerable  four-posters, 
richly  carved  and  dark,  to  induce  eighteenth 
century  dreams  in  the  twentieth  century  Har- 
risons. Massive  mahogany  wardrobes,  bu- 
reaus, and  washstands  are  as  generations  of 
forebears  have  used  them. 

Some  of  the  bedrooms  once  had  small 
rooms  opening  off  from  them,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  fireplace,  each  having  a  window. 
An  English  kinswoman  of  the  family  says 
that  such  rooms  were  called  "  powdering 
rooms."  Through  holes  in  the  doors,  the 
colonial  belles  and  beaux  used  to  thrust  their 
elaborately  dressed  heads  into  these  rooms, 
that  they  might  be  powdered  in  there  with- 
out the  sweet-scented  clouds  enveloping  silks 
and  velvets  too. 

From  bedrooms  to  basement  is  a  long  way; 
but  we  would  see  the  old  stone  bench  down 

127 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

there  where  used  to  sit  the  row  of  black  boys 
to  answer  bells  from  these  rooms  above.  Just 
over  the  bench  hangs  still  a  tangle  of  the 
broken  bell  wires.  When  colonial  Brandon 
was  filled  with  guests,  there  must  often  have 
been  a  merry  jangle  above  the  old  stone  bench 
and  a  swift  patter  of  feet  on  the  flags. 
Standing  there  to-day,  one  can  almost  fancy 
an  impatient  tinkle.  Is  it  from  some  high- 
coiffured  beauty  in  the  south  wing  with  a 
message  that  must  go  post-haste  —  a  missive 
sanded,  scented,  and  sealed  by  a  trembling 
hand  and  to  be  opened  by  one  no  steadier? 
or  is  it  perhaps  from  some  bewigged  coun- 
cillor with  knee-buckles  glinting  in  the  fire- 
light as  he  waits  for  the  subtle  heart-warming 
of  an  apple  toddy? 

Now,  we  were  ready  to  go  home;  but  we 
did  not  start  at  once.  A  stranger  going  any- 
where from  Brandon  should  imitate  the  cau- 
tious railways  and  have  his  schedule  subject 
to  change  without  notice.  At  the  last  mo- 
ment, some  new  old  thing  is  bound  to  get 
between  him  and  the  door.  In  our  case,  two 
or  three  of  them  did. 

Somebody  spoke  of  a  secret  panel.  That 
sounded  well;  and  even  though  we  were  as- 
sured that  nothing  had  been  found  behind  it, 
we  went  to  the  south  wing  to  look  at  the  hole 

128 


HARBOUR  DAYS   AND   A  FOGGY   NIGHT 

in  the  wall.  At  one  side  of  a  fireplace,  a  bit 
of  metal  had  been  found  under  the  molding 
of  a  panel  in  the  wainscoting.  It  was  evi- 
dently a  secret  spring,  but  one  that  had  long 
since  lost  its  cunning;  stiff  with  age  and  rust, 
it  failed  to  respond  to  the  discovering  touch. 
In  the  end,  the  panel  had  to  be  just  prosa- 
ically pried  out.  And,  worst  of  all,  the  dim 
recess  behind  it  was  empty. 

When  we  had  peered  within  the  roomy 
secret  space  and  had  wondered  what  had  been 
concealed  there  and  what  hands  had  pressed 
the  hidden  spring,  we  might  really  have 
started  for  the  houseboat  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  skull  story.  But  there,  just  under- 
neath a  window  of  the  secret-panel  room,  was 
another  place  of  secrets.  It  was  a  brick  pro- 
jection from  the  wall  of  such  peculiar  form 
as  to  have  invited  investigation.  When  some 
bricks  had  been  removed  and  some  earth 
taken  out,  a  human  skull  showed  white  and 
ghastly.  Then,  at  the  touch  of  moving  air, 
it  crumbled  away.  That  was  no  story  to  start 
anywhere  on,  even  in  broad  daylight;  so  we 
had  another. 

We  were  taken  into  the  drawing-room  and 
there,  sharing  honours  with  the  portraits,  was 
a  little  gold  ring  hanging  high  from  the 
chandelier  rosette.  While  not  a  work  of  art 

129 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

like  one  of  the  canvases  on  the  wall,  it  has 
its  own  sufficient  charm  —  it  is  a  mystery. 
The  dainty  gold  band  has  hung  above  the 
heads  of  generations  of  Harrisons,  and  some- 
where in  the  long  line  its  story  has  been  lost. 
Who  placed  the  ring  where  it  hangs,  and 
whether  in  joy  or  in  grief,  nobody  longer 
knows.  But  it  will  swing  safely  there  while 
Brandon  stands,  for  in  this  ancient  house, 
down  the  ages  undisturbed,  come  the  mysteries 
and  the  ghosts. 

That  evening  a  wind  came  up  and  rain 
set  in  from  a  depressing  dark -blue-calico  sky. 
Gadabout  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  run 
back  into  her  creek  harbour;  but  put  down 
a  heavier  anchor  and  made  herself  comfort- 
able for  the  night  in  the  cove  above  the  Bran- 
don pier.  The  cradling  boat  and  the  patter 
upon  the  roof  soon  put  us  to  sleep.  Then 
something  put  us  very  "wide  awake  again. 
We  listened,  but  there  was  nothing  to  hear. 
The  wind  had  died  out  and  the  boat  had 
stopped  rolling.  In  a  moment,  the  long  blast 
of  a  steamer  wrhistle  told  what  was  the  mat- 
ter. In  blanket-robe  and  slippers,  the  Com- 
modore got  quickly  to  a  window,  and  found 
the  river  world  all  gone  —  swallowed  up  in 
fog. 

Another  weird,  warning  call  out  of  the 
130 


HARBOUR   DAYS   AND   A   FOGGY   NIGHT 

mysterious,  impenetrable  mist;  the  steamer 
for  Richmond  was  groping  her  way  up  the 
river.  To  be  sure,  anchored  as  we  were  so 
far  inshore  of  the  channel,  we  were  well  clear 
of  the  steamer's  course;  but  in  such  heavy 
fogs  the  river  boats  often  go  astray.  As  suc- 
ceeding blasts  sounded  nearer,  the  Commo- 
dore became  anxious  and,  without  waiting 
to  turn  out  the  crew,  he  started  for  the  fog- 
bell. 

But  where  was  the  fog-bell?  Not  where 
it  ought  to  be,  we  well  knew.  Some  changes 
in  the  cockpit  had  crowded  it  from  its  place, 
and  for  some  time  it  had  been  stowed  away 
—  but  where?  The  Commodore  scurried 
from  locker  to  locker. 

"  Couldn't  we  just  as  well  whistle? "  asked 
Nautica. 

"  No,  no.  A  boat  under  way  whistles  in 
a  fog,  but  one  at  anchor  must  ring  a  bell." 

One  more  locker,  and,  "  I've  found  it! " 
triumphantly  cried  the  Commodore;  but  then, 
in  dismay,  "  There  goes  the  tongue  out  of  the 
thing." 

Suddenly  came  another  blast  from  the 
steamer.  She  sounded  almost  atop  of  us, 
and  the  whistling  was  followed  by  a  swashing 
of  water  as  though  her  propeller  had  been 
reversed. 

131 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

"  Why  don't  you  call  Henry?  "  asked  Nau- 
tica. 

"  No  time  now,"  said  the  Commodore.  "  I 
must  find  something  to  pound  this  bell 
with." 

Of  course  there  seemed  nothing  available. 
The  Commodore  seized  a  whisk  broom,  but 
dropped  that  in  favour  of  a  hair-brush;  and 
then  in  the  excitement  some  harder  object 
was  thrust  into  his  hand  and  he  started  for 
the  door. 

Nautica  hurried  to  a  window,  and  now 
saw  a  blur  of  light  through  the  fog,  showing 
that  the  steamer  had  safely  passed  us;  but, 
though  she  called  joyously,  she  was  not  in 
time  to  stay  the  Commodore,  who  had  already 
dashed  into  the  cockpit  beating  the  tongueless 
bell  with  her  curling-irons. 

When  he  was  at  last  caught  and  silenced, 
we  could  hear  voices  on  the  steamer,  orders 
being  given,  and  then  the  rattle  of  running 
chain.  She  had  given  up  trying  to  make 
headway  in  the  fog,  and  was  coming  to  an- 
chor just  above  us. 

We  heartened  up  the  hickory  fire  and 
dressed  after  a  fashion;  and  sat  down  to  talk 
things  over.  The  steamer  did  not  ring  her 
bell,  so  we  did  not  summon  the  sailor  to  apply 
dressing-table  accessories  to  ours. 

132 


HARBOUR  DAYS   AND   A  FOGGY   NIGHT 

Going  to  a  window  now  and  then,  we  no- 
ticed that  the  fog  was  thinning;  and  at  one 
place  there  seemed  a  luminous  blur,  indicat- 
ing perhaps  where  the  steamer  lay.  We  won- 
dered whether  running  so  close  upon  Gad- 
about was  what  had  determined  the  captain 
to  cast  anchor.  And  then  we  wondered  other 
things  about  fogs  and  mists  and  bewildered 
ships. 

Nautica  sat  studying  the  firelight  (not  ex- 
actly in  a  dreamy  old  fireplace,  but  through 
a  damper-hole  in  the  stove),  and  at  length 
voiced  the  inspiration  that  she  got. 

"If  only  one  could  see  things  in  a  fog,  it 
wouldn't  be  so  bad,"  she  said  conclusively. 

"  No,"  came  the  answer  dryly,  "  a  fog  that 
one  could  see  in  would  be  quite  an  improve- 
ment." 

'  Wait  a  moment,"  laughed  Nautica.  "  I 
mean  it  isn't  merely  the  dangers  lurking  in 
a  fog,  but  the  way  you  go  into  them  that  is 
so  terrible.  The  dangers  of  a  storm  you  can 
meet,  looking  them  straight  in  the  face;  but 
those  of  a  fog  you  have  to  meet  blindfold." 

"  I  thought  of  that  when  I  got  up  to-night 
and  stood  by  the  window,"  said  the  Commo- 
dore. "  As  the  steamer's  whistle  kept  sound- 
ing nearer,  I  could  imagine  the  great,  blinded 
creature  slowly  groping  its  way  up  the  river. 

133 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 


I  think  I  quite  agree  that  it  would  be  nicer 
to  have  fogs  that  people  could  see  in." 

And  we  felt  that  Gadabout  would  be  of 
the  same  way  of  thinking.  Indeed,  could  we 
not  hear  her  joining  in  as  we  talked,  and 
good  naturedly  grumbling  that  if  we  couldn't 
have  that  kind  of  fogs,  why  then  we  ought 
to  get  close  in  shore  among  the  crabs  and  the 
sand-fiddlers,  where  the  big  boats  could  not 
come;  or  else  go  into  a  quiet  little  creek  with 
a  sleepy  little  houseboat. 

But  by  this  time  no  one  was  listening  to 
Gadabout.  Any  further  fussy  complaining 
of  this  little  craft  was  drowned  by  the  Com- 
modore reading  aloud.  He  had  bethought 
him  of  a  book  containing  some  chapters  on 
Brandon  that  we  had  got  from  the  manor- 
house.  And  reading  made  us  hungry;  and 
there  were  two  apple  tarts  on  the  tipper  shelf 
of  the  refrigerator  (for  had  not  the  cook  pro- 
vided them  "  in  case  an*  you  should  wish  'em 
befo*  you  retiah"?);  and  by  the  time  the 
tarts  were  gone,  so  was  the  fog;  and  the 
steamer  headed  again  for  Richmond  and  we 
for  Dreamland. 


134 


CHAPTER    XIII 

OLD   SILVER,    OLD    PAPERS,    AND    AN    OLD    COURT 
GOWN 

TOWARD  the  last  of  our  stay  in  Chippoak 
Creek,  the  weather  was  bad;  but  it  was  sur- 
prising how  agreeable  disagreeable  days  could 
be  at  Brandon.  It  was  dark  and  gloomy  that 
afternoon  when  we  got  to  looking  at  the  old 
family  silver,  and  even  raining  dismally  by 
the  time  we  were  carefully  unfolding  the 
faded  court  gown;  but  on  we  went  from 
treasure  to  treasure  oblivious  of  the  weather. 

Fine  and  quaint  pieces  of  old  silver  are 
among  the  family  plate.  Many  of  them  bear 
the  Harrison  crest  —  a  demi-lion  rampant 
supporting  a  laurel  wreath.  And  who  would 
know  what  the  weather  was  doing,  when  those 
ancient  pieces  were  passing  from  hand  to 
hand,  and  the  fascinating  study  of  hall  marks 
was  revealing  dates  more  than  two  centuries 
past?  There  is  even  some  ecclesiastical  silver 
in  the  old  home  —  the  communion  service 
once  used  in  the  Martin's  Brandon  Church,  a 
building  no  longer  standing.  The  inscription 

135 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

tells  that  the  service  was  the  gift  of  Major 
John  Westhrope,  and  the  marks  give  date 
of  about  1659. 

But  no  one  form  of  the  antique  can  hold 
you  long  at  Brandon.  From  out  some  drawer 
or  chest  or  closet,  another  treasure  will  ap- 
pear and  lure  you  away  with  another  story 
of  the  long  ago.  With  the  inimitable  sheen 
of  old  silver  still  in  our  eyes,  our  ears  caught 
the  crackle  of  ancient  parchment;  and  we 
turned  to  the  fascinations  of  venerable  records 
and  dingy  red  seals  and  queer  blue  tax 
stamps.  The  papers  were  delightfully  quaint 
and  yellow  and  worn,  but  from  their  very 
age  a  little  awesome  too. 

The  most  valued  one  of  them  all  is  the 
original  grant  of  Martin's  Brandon  bearing 
date  1616  —  four  years  before  the  Pilgrims 
landed  at  Plymouth.  The  grant  covers  a 
page  and  a  half  of  the  large  sheets  of  heavy 
parchment,  and  the  ink  is  a  stronger  black 
than  that  on  records  a  century  younger. 

On  a  worn  paper  dated  1702  is  a  plat  of 
Brandon  plantation.  It  shows  that  at  that 
time  the  central  portion  of  the  manor-house 
had  not  been  built  as  only  two  disconnected 
buildings  (the  present  wings)  are  given.  A 
part  of  the  sketch  is  marked  "  a  corner  of 
the  garden."  So,  for  two  hundred  years  (and 

136 


~~-;;;S^~'^^s3c^—  ^S^sSSC^S.^^?*  "^""^""^ 

s-        -  fe^XLu 


-v  ,,_         . 

-^- 


TREASURED    PARCHMENTS,   INCLUDING   THE   ORIGINAL   GRANT   OF 

1616. 


OLD   SILVER,    OLD    PAPERS,   AN   OLD    GOWN 

who  knows  how  much  longer?)  there  has  been 
that  garden  by  the  river.  Off  at  one  side  of 
the  old  map,  we  found  our  landing-place  in 
the  woods  beside  some  wavy  lines  that,  a  neat 
clerkly  hand  informed  us  in  pale  brown  ink, 
were  the  "  meanderings  of  Chippoak  Creek." 

Poring  so  intently  over  those  ancient  pa- 
pers with  their  great  Old  English  capitals, 
their  stiff  flourishes,  their  quaint  abbrevia- 
tions, we  should  scarcely  have  been  startled 
to  see  a  peruked  head  bend  above  them  and 
a  hand  with  noisy  quill  go  tracing  along  the 
lines  of  those  long-ago  "  Whereases "  and 
"  Be  it  knowns." 

But,  instead,  something  quite  different  came 
out  of  the  past:  something  very  soft  and 
feminine  fell  over  the  blotched  old  papers  — 
the  treasured  silk  brocade  in  which  Evelyn 
Byrd  was  presented  at  the  Court  of  George  I. 
Like  a  shadowy  passing  of  that  famous  colo- 
nial belle,  was  the  sweep  of  the  faint-flowered 
gown.  A  fabric  of  the  patch-and-powder 
days  is  this,  with  embroidered  flowers  in  old 
blues  and  pinks  clustered  on  its  deep  cream 
ground.  Its  fashioning  is  quaint:  the  Wat- 
teau  pleat  in  the  back  with  tiny  tucks  each 
side  at  the  slim  waist  line,  the  square  low 
neck,  the  close  elbow  sleeves,  the  open  front 
to  display  the  quilted  petticoat. 

137 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Mingled  feelings  rise  at  sight  of  the  soft 
brocade  whose  bodice  once  throbbed  with  the 
happy  heartbeats  of  this  Virginia  maiden, 
making  pretty  curtsy  in  rosy  pleasure,  the 
admiration  of  the  English  Court.  Perhaps 
in  this  very  gown  she  danced  the  stately  min- 
uet with  young  Charles  Mordaunt;  perhaps 
hid  beneath  its  fluttering  laces  his  first  love 
sonnet.  So,  in  those  far  colonial  days  it  knew 
the  life  of  her.  The  grace  of  the  young  body 
seems  still  to  linger  in  the  pale,  shimmering 
folds ;  and  the  clinging  touch  of  the  old  court 
gown  is  like  a  timid  appeal  for  remembrance. 

After  that  rainy  afternoon  at  the  manor- 
house,  we  were  storm-bound  aboard  Gad- 
about for  a  few  days.  At  last  the  weather 
cleared  and  we  again  thought  of  a  trip  ashore. 
There  was  yet  a  brisk  wind;  and  for  some 
time  our  rowboat  rocked  alongside,  indus- 
triously bumping  the  paint  off  the  houseboat, 
while  we  sat  on  the  windlass  box  enjoying 
the  fresh  breeze  in  our  faces  and  watching 
the  driftage  catch  on  our  anchor  chain.  Of 
course  one  can  sit  right  dowTi  on  the  bobby 
bow  itself  with  feet  hanging  over,  and  poke 
with  a  stick  at  the  flotsam.  But  that  is  only 
for  moments  of  lazy  leisure,  not  for  a  time 
when  one  is  about  to  visit  Brandon. 

At  last,  we  were  ashore  and  again  in  the 
138 


OLD   SILVER,    OLD    PAPERS,   AN   OLD   GOWN 

"  woods-way."  That  was  the  day  we  got  into 
trouble,  all  owing  to  Nautica's  passion  for 
ancient  tombstones.  We  were  half  way  to 
Brandon  when  she  concluded  that  it  was  not 
the  manor-house  that  she  wished  to  visit  first, 
but  the  old  graveyard.  We  stopped  at  the 
manager's  house  to  inquire  the  way.  The 
road  led  inland.  It  soon  dipped  to  a  bridge 
over  a  little  stream,  where  the  banks  were 
masses  of  honeysuckle  whose  fragrance  fol- 
lowed us  up  the  slope  beyond.  On  a  little 
farther  was  a  field  with  a  grove  in  the  centre 
of  it  that  we  knew,  from  the  directions  given 
us,  contained  the  cemetery. 

We  entered  the  field,  and  had  got  almost 
to  the  grove  when  Nautica  suddenly  stopped, 
stared,  and  turned  pale.  The  Commodore's 
glance  followed  hers;  whereupon,  he  uttered 
brave  words  calculated  to  reassure  the  timid 
feminine  heart,  and  in  a  voice  that  would 
have  been  steady  enough  if  his  knees  had  kept 
still.  The  bull  said  nothing. 

Very  soon,  and  without  his  moving  at  all, 
that  bull  was  far  away  from  us.  We  recog- 
nized at  once  that  the  field  was  properly  his 
preserve  and  that  we  really  had  no  right 
there;  but  we  trusted  that  our  intrusion  in 
coming  in  would  be  atoned  for  by  our 
promptness  in  getting  out. 

139 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

In  the  absorbing  process  of  putting  space 
between  the  bull  and  the  houseboaters,  the 
restlessness  of  the  Commodore's  knees  was 
really  an  advantage.  They  moved  so  fast  that 
he  was  able  to  keep  in  advance  of  Nautica, 
and  so  be  ready  to  protect  her  if  another  bull 
should  appear  on  ahead.  When  he  felt  sat- 
isfied that  he  need  no  longer  expose  himself 
in  the  van  (and,  incidentally,  that  the  bull  in 
the  rear  had  been  left  out  of  sight),  he  slack- 
ened his  pace.  We  managed  to  get  down  to 
a  walk  in  the  course  of  half  a  mile  or  so;  and 
at  last  approached  Brandon  at  a  quite  deco- 
rous gait. 

There,  we  learned  that  we  had  gone  to  the 
wrong  cemetery  anyway  —  to  the  one  that  had 
belonged  to  the  old  Brandon  Church  whose 
communion  service  we  had  seen.  The  Harri- 
son burying-ground  was  not  far  from  the  home. 

So,  with  members  of  the  household,  we  went 
out  across  the  lawn  and  around  a  corner  of 
the  garden  to  the  family  graveyard.  The 
first  Benjamin  Harrison,  the  emigrant,  who 
died  about  1649,  is  not  buried  here.  His 
tomb  stands  near  the  great  sycamore  tree  in 
the  churchyard  at  James  Towne.  However, 
the  tombs  of  his  descendants,  owners  of  Bran- 
don, are  (with  one  exception)  in  this  old 
plantation  burying-ground. 

140 


THE    ANCIENT   GARRISON    HOUSE. 


OLD   SILVER,    OLD    PAPERS,   AN   OLD   GOWN 

In  the  walk  back  to  the  house,  we  stopped 
to  see  what  is  probably  the  oldest,  and  in 
many  respects  the  most  interesting,  building 
on  the  plantation.  It  is  just  an  odd  stubby 
brick  house  with  a  crumbling  cellar-hut  at 
one  end.  But  family  tradition  says  that  it 
is  one  of  the  old  garrison  houses,  or  "  defensi- 
ble houses,"  built  in  early  times  for  protec- 
tion against  the  Indians.  It  certainly  looks 
the  part,  with  its  heavy  walls,  its  iron  doors 
and  shutters,  and  the  indications  of  former 
loopholes.  Upon  those  first  scattered  plan- 
tations, a  characteristic  feature  was  such  a 
strong-house  or  "  block-house "  surrounded 
by  a  stockade  or  "  palisado  "  of  logs. 

While  this  strong-house  at  Brandon  must 
have  been  built  after  the  terrible  Indian  mas- 
sacre of  1622,  yet  it  doubtless  served  as  a 
place  of  refuge  in  later  attacks.  Many  a 
time  that  dread  alarm  may  have  spread  over 
this  plantation.  We  thought  of  the  hurrying 
to  and  fro;  of  the  gathering  of  weapons, 
ammunition,  bullet-molds,  food,  and  whatever 
necessities  there  may  have  been  time  to  catch 
up ;  and  of  the  panic-stricken  men,  women  and 
children  fleeing  from  field  and  cabin  to  the 
shelter  of  the  stockade  and  of  the  strong-house. 

Back  again  in  the  manor-house,  we  spent 
our  last  hour  at  Brandon;  for  Gadabout  was 

141 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

to  sail  away  next  day.  It  was  a  colonial 
horn-;  for  Brandon  clocks  tick  off  no  other, 
nor  would  any  other  seem  natural  within 
those  walls. 

Sitting  there  in  the  old  home,  we  slipped 
easily  back  into  the  centuries;  back  perhaps 
to  the  day  of  the  great  mahogany  sofa  that 
we  sat  upon.  It  all  seemed  very  real.  The 
afternoon  sun  —  some  eighteenth  century  af- 
ternoon sun  —  came  in  through  deep-case- 
mented  windows.  It  lighted  up  the  high, 
panelled  room,  falling  warmly  upon  antique 
furniture  about  us,  upon  by-gone  worthies  on 
the  wall,  and  (quite  as  naturally,  it  seemed) 
upon  a  colonial  girl,  who  now  smilingly  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway.  Bringing  the  finish- 
ing touch  of  life  to  the  old-time  setting,  she 
came,  a  curl  of  her  dark  hair  across  a  white 
shoulder  and  her  gown  a  quaintly  fashioned 
silk  brocade. 

This  eighteenth  century  presentment  was 
in  kindly  compliance  with  a  wish  that  we  had 
expressed  on  that  rainy  day  when  we  were 
looking  over  Brandon  treasures.  It  was 
Brandon's  daughter  in  the  court  gown  of  her 
colonial  aunt,  Evelyn  Byrd.  And  we  thought 
in  how  few  American  homes  could  this  charm- 
ing visitor  from  the  colonies  so  find  the  colo- 
nial waiting  to  receive  her. 

142 


MISS    HARRISON    IN"    THE   COURT   GOWN"    OF    HER   COLONIAL   AUNT, 
EVELYN    BYRD. 


OLD   SILVER,   OLD    PAPERS,   AN   OLD   GOWN 

Nowhere  in  the  world,  it  is  said,  are  there 
so  many  new,  comfortable  homes  built  for  the 
passing  day  as  in  America;  but  also  in  no 
civilized  country  are  there  so  few  old  homes. 
More  and  more,  as  this  fact  comes  to  be  real- 
ized, will  Americans  who  care  for  the  perma- 
nent and  the  storied  appreciate  such  colonial 
homesteads  as  Brandon,  the  ancestral  home 
of  the  Harrisons. 


143 


CHAPTER    XIV 

A   ONE  -  ENGINE    RUN    AND    A    FOREST   TOMB 

BY  the  time  we  had  finished  our  visit  at 
Brandon,  we  were  in  the  midst  of  the  beau- 
tiful Virginia  autumn.  Though  much  of  the 
warmth  of  summer  was  yet  in  the  midday 
hours,  the  mornings  were  often  crisp  and  the 
evenings  seemed  to  lose  heart  and  grow  chill 
as  they  saw  the  sun  go  down. 

Part  of  the  houseboat  was  heated  by  oil 
stoves,  but  the  forward  cabin  had  a  wood 
stove,  and  above  it  on  the  upper  deck  was 
our  little  sheet-iron  chimney.  It  had  a  hood 
that  turned  with  the  wind  and  creaked  just 
enough  for  company.  So,  during  mornings 
and  evenings  and  wet  days,  Gadabout  smoked 
away,  cozy  and  comfortable. 

She  was  smoking  vigorously  on  the  day 
that  we  bade  good-bye  to  Chippoak  Creek. 
That  was  a  glorious  morning  —  one  of  those 
mornings  when  the  sun  tries  to  warm  the 
northwest  wind  and  the  northwest  wind  tries 
to  chill  the  sun,  and  between  the  two  a  tonic 

144 


A    ONE -ENGINE    RUN    AND    A    FOREST    TOMB 

gets  into  the  air  and  people  want  to  do  things. 
We  wanted  to  "  see  the  wheels  go  round  " 
(not  knowing  then  that  only  one  would  go 
round)  ;  and  we  prepared  to  start  for  Kitte- 
wan  Creek,  a  few  miles  farther  up  the  James. 

Kittewan  Creek  is  no  place  in  particular, 
but  near  it  are  two  old  plantations  that  his- 
torians and  story-writers  have  talked  a  good 
deal  about.  These  two  estates,  Weyanoke 
and  Fleur  de  Hundred,  having  no  longer 
pretentious  colonial  mansions,  are  often  over- 
looked by  the  traveller  on  the  James,  who 
thereby  loses  a  worthy  chapter  of  the  river 
story. 

When  our  anchors  came  up  out  of  the 
friendly  mud  of  Chippoak  Creek,  we  let  the 
northwest  wind  push  us  across  the  flats  and 
into  the  channel.  Then  we  summoned  the 
engines  to  do  their  duty.  The  port  one  re- 
sponded promptly,  but  the  other  would  do 
nothing;  and  as  we  ran  out  of  the  creek  and 
headed  up  the  river,  the  Commodore  was  ap- 
pealing to  the  obdurate  machine  with  a  screw- 
driver and  a  monkey-wrench. 

The  tide  was  hurrying  up-stream  and  the 
wind  was  hurrying  down-stream,  and  old 
Powhatan  was  much  troubled.  Gadabout 
rolled  awkwardly  among  the  white-caps  but 
continued  to  make  headway.  Pocahontas,  the 

145 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

big  river  steamer,  was  coming  down-stream. 
We  could  see  her  making  a  landing  at  a 
wharf  above  us  where  a  little  mill  puffed 
away  and  a  barge  was  loading.  Evidently, 
the  steamer  was  to  stop  next  at  a  landing 
that  we  were  just  passing,  for  there  men  and 
mules  were  hurrying  to  get  ready  for  her. 
Now  the  starboard  bank  of  the  river  grew 
high  and  sightly,  but  on  the  port  side  there 
was  only  a  great  waste  of  marsh. 

The  Commodore  spent  much  time  with  the 
ailing  motor.  Once  he  lost  a  portion  of  the 
creature's  anatomy  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
Nautica  found  him,  inverted  and  full  of  emo- 
tion, fishing  about  in  the  bilge-water  for  the 
lost  piece.  She  offered  him  everything  from 
the  toasting-rack  to  the  pancake-turner  to 
scrape  about  with;  but  he  would  trust  noth- 
ing of  the  sort,  and  kept  searching  until  he 
found  the  piece  with  his  own  black,  oily  fin- 
gers. 

"  I  believe  the  man  that  built  this  boat  was 
a  prophet ! "  he  exclaimed  as  his  face,  flushed 
with  triumph  and  congestion,  appeared  above 
the  floor.  "  He  said  that  if  we  put  gasoline 
motors  in,  we  should  have  more  fun  and  more 
trouble  than  we  ever  had  in  our  lives  before; 
and  we  surely  are  getting  all  he  promised." 

As  we  rounded  the  next  bend  in  the  river, 
146 


STURGEON    POINT    LANDING. 


AT    THE    MOUTH    OF    KITTENYAN    CREEK. 


A  ONE -ENGINE  RUN  AND  A  FOREST  TOMB 

we  got  the  full  force  of  the  wind  and,  with 
but  one  engine  running,  it  was  a  question  for 
a  while  whether  we  were  going  to  go  on  up 
the  river  or  to  drift  back  down  stream.  For- 
tunately, the  James  narrowed  at  this  point, 
thus  increasing  the  sweep  of  the  tide  that  was 
helping  us  along,  and  slowly  Gadabout  pushed 
on,  slapping  down  hard  on  the  big  waves  and 
holding  steady. 

A  short  distance  beyond  Sturgeon  Point 
was  the  indentation  in  the  shore  marking  the 
mouth  of  Kittewan  Creek.  Old  cypress  trees 
stepped  out  into  the  river  on  either  side,  while 
a  row  of  stakes  seemed  to  indicate  the  channel 
of  the  little  waterway.  Sounding  along  we 
went  in  with  four  feet  of  water  under  us. 

Our  plan  was  to  find  an  anchorage  a  little 
way  up  the  creek,  and  then  next  day  to  start 
with  the  rising  tide  for  a  run  on  up  to  Weya- 
noke.  Of  course  Weyanoke  fronted  upon  the 
James,  but  our  idea  was  to  make  a  sort  of 
back-door  landing  by  running  up  this  stream 
and  in  behind  the  plantation.  There  was  no 
sheltering  cove  to  lie  in  on  the  river  front; 
and  besides,  to  make  the  visit  at  the  regular 
pier  was  so  hopelessly  commonplace.  Any 
of  the  ordinary  palace  yachts  could  do  the 
thing  that  way.  But  it  took  a  gypsy  craft 
like  Gadabout  to  wriggle  up  the  little  back- 

147 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

country  creek  and  to  land  among  the  chickens 
and  the  geese  and  —  bulls  perhaps;  but  then 
all  explorers  must  take  chances. 

Kittewan  Creek  is  a  marsh  stream;  yet  for 
some  distance  in  from  the  mouth  tall  cypresses 
stand  along  the  reedy  banks.  These  trees 
protected  us  from  the  high  wind  and  made  it 
easy  for  us  to  take  Gadabout  up  the  narrow 
watercourse. 

As  she  moved  slowly  along,  we  were  look- 
ing for  an  ancient  tomb  that  we  had  been  told 
stood  on  the  left  bank  of  the  stream  not  far 
from  the  mouth  -  "  the  mysterious  tomb  of 
the  James  "  some  one  had  called  it.  While 
we  could  see  nothing  of  it  then,  we  resolved 
to  search  for  it  upon  returning  from  our  run 
up  the  creek  to  visit  Weyanoke.  But  we 
were  destined  to  see  the  tomb  before  seeing 
Weyanoke. 

Upon  reaching  the  first  bend  in  the  stream, 
our  tree-protection  failed  us  and  Gadabout 
became  so  absorbed  in  the  antics  of  wind  and 
tide  that  she  paid  no  further  heed  to  any  sug- 
gestions on  our  part  as  to  the  proper  way  to 
navigate  Kittewan  Creek.  Her  notion  seemed 
to  be  to  run  down  a  few  fish-nets  whose  corks 
were  bobbing  about  on  the  water,  and  then 
to  go  over  and  hang  herself  up  on  some  cy- 
press stumps  at  the  edge  of  the  marsh.  We 

148 


THE    FOREST    TOMB. 


THE    OLD    KITTEWAX    HOUSE. 


A  ONE -ENGINE  RUN  AND  A  FOREST  TOMB 

insisted  upon  her  going  a  little  way  farther 
up  the  creek.  But  a  compromise  was  all  that 
could  be  effected;  anchors  were  dropped  and 
operations  temporarily  suspended  on  both 
sides. 

We  had  a  much  belated  dinner,  and  then 
all  went  ashore  to  make  inquiries  and  to  get 
supplies  at  a  house  that  stood  on  a  bluff  above 
the  bend  in  the  stream.  It  proved  to  be  a 
very  old  building  and  quite  a  landmark.  It 
was  called  the  Kittewan  house.  There,  we 
learned  that  the  tomb  we  were  looking  for 
was  on  the  bank  almost  opposite  where  our 
houseboat  lay. 

We  found  it  close  to  the  creek.  It  was  an 
altar-tomb,  broken  and  timeworn  and  almost 
covered  with  an  accumulation  of  earth  and 
moss  and  leaves.  One  corner  support  and  one 
side  of  the  caving  base  were  gone,  letting 
ferns  and  lichens  find  a  home  within,  tender 
green  fronds  touching  the  shadowing  slab 
above  them. 

The  strange,  unremembered  grave  was  that 
of  a  woman.  For,  when  we  had  scraped  clear 
a  little  of  the  slab,  we  came  upon  the  name 
Elizabeth.  Our  floating  home  was  near 
enough  to  lend  shovel  and  broom;  and  we 
undertook  to  free  the  tomb  (that  was  itself 
being  slowly  buried)  and  to  bring  to  light 

149 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

again  the  chiseled  story  of  the  long-ago  Eliz- 
abeth who  lay  in  this  lonely  place. 

When  the  granite  slab  was  uncovered  and 
swept  clean,  we  were  able  to  read  most  of 
the  words  upon  it,  although  the  stone  was  cut 
almost  as  deep  by  the  little  fingers  of  rain 
and  of  frost  as  by  the  graver's  heavy  hand 
that  had  itself  gone  to  dust  long  ago.  Slowly 
we  found  the  words  telling  that  there  rested 
the  body  of  Elizabeth  Hollingshorst,  whose 
husband,  Thomas  Hollingshorst,  was  a  ship- 
master; that  her  father  was  Mr.  Finer  Gor- 
don of  the  family  of  Tilliangus  in  Aberdeen- 
shire,  Scotland;  and  that  she  died  November 
30,  1728. 

The  father's  name,  Gordon  (so  proud  a  one 
in  Aberdeenshire),  and  the  use  before  it  of 
the  prefix  Mr.  (a  term  then  synonymous  with 
"  gentleman  "  and  never  lightly  given  in  those 
days  of  well-defined  rank)  show  that  this 
Elizabeth  was  of  gentle  birth.  The  words 
"  Ship  Master  "  tell  of  how  the  breath  of  the 
old  North  Sea  had  called  Thomas  Hollings- 
horst from  the  banks  and  braes  and  led  him 
to  point  the  bow  of  his  merchant  ship  across 
seas,  bound  for  England's  far-away  colony. 
Little  would  he  dream  —  crowding  canvas 
to  speed  his  cargo  to  the  Virginia  planta- 
tions—  that  his  gentle-bom  Elizabeth  was  to 

150 


A    ONE-ENGINE    RUN    AND    A    FOREST    TOMB 

find  a  grave  in  that  feared  American  wilder- 
ness. 

The  longer  we  worked  over  the  ancient 
stone  the  more  we  came  to  feel  the  pitiful 
meaning  of  it. 

We  felt  that  this  Elizabeth  was  a  true  heart 
and  a  brave  one,  who  ventured  the  perilous 
sea-voyage  of  the  early  days  with  her  ship- 
master husband.  She  did  not  come  as  other 
women  came  —  to  make  a  home  in  the  new 
land  and  to  have  friends  and  neighbours  there. 
She  came,  a  passing  stranger,  upon  her  hus- 
band's trading  ship ;  a  ship  that  would  anchor 
but  to  exchange  its  English  wares  for  the 
planter's  tobacco,  and  then  turn  prow  again 
to  the  perils  of  the  sea.  When  illness  came 
in  the  new,  wild  land,  how  distant  must  have 
seemed  Aberdeenshire  in  those  days  of  the 
little  ship  and  the  slow  sail!  And  here,  long- 
ing for  one  more  sight  of  Scottish  heather, 
this  Elizabeth  died. 

Seeking  for  her  a  last  resting-place,  the 
stranger  ship  moved  up  the  river  and  came 
to  anchor  at  the  mouth  of  this  creek.  They 
lowered  her  gently  over  the  ship's  side  into 
a  long-boat  and  then  rowed  up  the  stream 
into  the  forest.  Here  by  the  creek's  side  they 
buried  her,  and  (doubtless  by  the  ship's  own 
compass)  they  orientated  the  forest  grave. 

151 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Then  again  the  ship  sailed  across  seas  and 
bore  sad  tidings  to  some  family  of  Gordons 
in  Aberdeen  shire. 

In  those  days  it  must  have  been  long  before 
the  returning  vessel  could  sail  up  the  James, 
this  time  bearing  the  graven  tomb  from  Scot- 
land. For  a  little  while,  the  stillness  of  the 
forest  was  once  more  broken,  startling  the 
timid  woodland  folk;  and  then  these  strangers 
from  overseas  were  gone.  Again  the  great 
silence  fell  and  the  wilderness  took  the  grave 
to  itself.  Slowly  it  set  upon  the  tomb  its  seal 
of  moss  and  lichen  and  vine.  Unmindful  of 
the  mark  of  human  loss  and  grief,  the  wild 
folk  came  and  went.  Joyously  the  cardinal 
flashed  his  crimson  wing  above  the  darkening 
stone ;  the  deer  came  to  drink  from  the  stream 
and  lifted  their  heads  to  scent  the  breeze  that 
came  with  the  dawn  through  the  cypress  trees, 
across  a  forgotten  grave;  hard  and  incurious, 
the  Weyanoke  Indians  slipped  by  like  darker 
shadows  in  the  forest  gloom;  and  only  the 
little  night  birds  seemed  to  know  or  to  care 
as  they  called  plaintively  in  the  marshes  at 
twilight. 

As  we  were  about  to  leave  the  tomb,  we 
bethought  us  that  the  anniversary  of  the  death 
of  this  Elizabeth  was  drawing  near.  We 
heaped  the  holly  with  its  glowing  berries  above 

152 


A  ONE -ENGINE  RUN  AND  A  FOREST  TOMB 

the  crumbling  stone.  And  still  we  lingered; 
for  the  Gordons  of  Tilliangus  seemed  very 
far  away  from  this  daughter  of  their  house. 
As  the  sunset  lights  were  fading,  we  saw  a 
new  moon  pale  on  the  tinted  sky;  and  we 
thought  of  how  for  almost  two  centuries  cres- 
cent moons  had  trembled  from  silver  to  gold 
above  this  forlorn  grave  on  the  bank  of  the 
Kittewan. 

A  short  row  in  the  dusk  out  upon  the 
stream,  and  we  stepped  aboard  Gadabout.  She 
never  seemed  more  cozy  and  homelike.  A 
great  bowl  of  pink  and  yellow  chrysanthe- 
mums from  Brandon's  old  garden  and  trail- 
ing cedar  and  ferns  and  red-berried  holly 
added  to  the  cheer.  Soon  our  home-lights 
streamed  from  the  broad  windows  out  across 
the  water,  and  some  faint  glow  must  have 
touched  that  lonely  tomb  on  shore. 


153 


CHAPTER    XV 

NAVIGATING   AN    UNNAVIGABLE   STREAM 

IN  the  morning  the  sun  and  the  mist  filled 
our  little  harbour  with  a  golden  shimmer,  and 
all  the  marsh  reeds  were  quivering  in  the  radi- 
ance. The  blue  herons  were  winging  out  to 
the  river,  and  the  doves  were  weaving  spells 
round  and  round  the  dormer-windowed  cot- 
tage on  the  hill. 

Gadabout's  household  was  early  astir  ready 
for  the  run  up  Kittewan  Creek.  We  had 
only  to  get  a  chicken  or  two  at  the  house  on 
the  bluff,  and  then  we  should  be  ready  to 
start  at  the  turn  of  the  tide.  Imagine,  then, 
our  chagrin  when  the  sailor  returned  with 
not  only  the  chickens  but  the  information  also 
that  we  could  not  get  the  houseboat  any  far- 
ther up  the  stream,  on  account  of  numerous 
shallows  and  submerged  cypress  stumps. 

Once  more  the  charts  were  got  out  and 
spread  upon  a  table.  We  still  felt  that  if 
the  sounding-marks  were  right  Gadabout 
could  navigate  the  stream.  However,  at  two 

154 


NAVIGATING  AN   UNNAVIGABLE  STREAM 

places  islands  were  shown  where  there  seemed 
scarcely  room  in  the  creek  for  islands  and 
Gadabout  too;  and  if  we  had  also  to  throw 
in  a  few  cypress  stumps  for  good  measure, 
our  prospects  for  visiting  Weyanoke  by  the 
chickens-and-geese  route  were  indeed  not 
promising. 

But  we  knew  Gadabout  and  how  we  had 
taken  the  craft  almost  everywhere  that  people 
had  told  us  she  could  not  go.  For,  to  our 
minds,  one  of  the  chief  charms  of  houseboat- 
ing  lay  in  poking  about  in  such  out-of-the- 
way  places. 

Let  the  yacht  reign  supreme  as  the  deep- 
water  pleasure  craft,  that  trails  its  elegance 
perforce  ever  up  and  down  the  same  prescribed 
channels.  The  ideal  houseboat  is  the  light- 
draft  water  gypsy,  that  turns  often  from  the 
buoyed  course  and  wanders  off  into  the  pic- 
turesque world  of  little  waters;  along  stream- 
lets that  lead  in  winding  ways  to  quaint  bits 
of  nowhere,  and  into  quiet  shallows  of  for- 
gotten lagoons  that  have  fallen  asleep  to  the 
lullaby  of  their  own  rushes. 

So  it  was  settled  that  our  houseboat  was 
to  try  to  go  up  the  creek  to  Weyanoke's  back 
door,  and  again  we  were  waiting  only  for  the 
turn  of  the  tide.  When  sticks  and  straws  and 
frost-tinted  leaves,  floating  down  past  us 

155 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

toward  the  James,  changed  their  minds  and 
started  back  up  the  Kittewan,  Gadabout  went 
with  them. 

After  a  while  the  creek  began  to  shallow 
rapidly  and  we  kept  the  sailor  on  ahead  in 
a  shore-boat  sounding,  while  we  tried  to  keep 
the  houseboat  from  running  over  him.  The 
southerly  breeze  was  gradually  freshening 
and  Gadabout  began  to  show  a  corresponding 
partiality  for  the  northern  bank  of  the  stream. 
But,  on  the  whole,  she  was  behaving  very 
well  and  apparently  the  mutinous  spirit  of 
the  day  before  had  entirely  disappeared.  We 
had  to  stop  just  before  coming  to  an  island 
standing  in  a  sharp  turn  of  the  little  water- 
way. 

'  Looks  like  we  can't  make  this  bend,  sir," 
called  the  sailor  from  the  shore-boat.  ' '  There's 
a  sure  enough  bar  'cross  here." 

By  keeping  at  it,  he  managed  to  find  a 
channel  for  going  round  on  the  port  side  of 
the  island.  Then  he  came  aboard,  started  an 
engine,  and  we  moved  on  again.  But  Gad- 
about had  been  deceiving  us;  she  still  had 
no  notion  of  going  up  the  creek.  We  were 
just  starting  to  go  around  the  island  when 
she  suddenly  transferred  her  allegiance  from 
the  steering-wheel  to  the  wind,  and  sidled  off 
in  the  marshes  till  she  brought  up  hard 

156 


NAVIGATING   AN   UNNAVIGABLE   STREAM 

aground.     There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
wait  for  the  rising  tide. 

Nautica  got  out  the  chart  again  to  see 
where  we  were.  At  Weyanoke  there  are  two 
plantations,  an  upper  one  and  a  lower  one; 
and  for  a  while  she  was  busy  measuring  be- 
tween the  stream  and  the  little  black  dots  that 
indicated  the  plantation  buildings.  At  last, 
after  a  final  counting  up  on  her  fingers,  she 
announced,  "  If  we  can  get  around  six  more 
bends  of  this  curly  stream,  we  shall  be  within 
less  than  half  a  mile  of  the  house  at  Lower 
Weyanoke." 

As  the  water  rose  around  the  houseboat, 
we  threw  out  a  kedge  anchor,  hauled  off, 
and  got  under  way  again.  Now,  Gadabout 
started  at  once  to  go  around  the  island  —  but 
(mutiny  again!)  she  was  going  around  on  the 
wrong  side.  The  Commodore  and  the  sailor, 
with  long  poles,  pushed  frantically  in  the  mud 
striving  to  set  the  unruly  craft  in  the  way 
she  should  go;  but  she  was  determined  to 
take  the  wrong  channel  and  was  slowly  get- 
ting the  better  of  us. 

"  She's  gittin*  away  from  us,  sir,"  called 
the  sailor. 

"  I  see  she  is,"  said  the  Commodore,  "  and 
I  don't  believe  she  can  get  around  the  island 
on  this  side." 

157 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

But  away  she  went,  wind  and  tide  carrying 
her  up  the  wrong  channel.  Laughing  at  the 
amusing  persistence  of  the  craft,  all  we  could 
do  was  to  keep  her  away  from  the  marshes 
and  let  her  go. 

The  creek  rapidly  narrowed;  the  marsh 
gave  way  to  woodland;  and  just  ahead  was 
but  a  small  passage  between  island  and  main- 
land for  us  to  go  through.  We  pushed  in 
between  waving  walls  of  autumn  foliage. 
Branches  tapped  on  our  windows,  and  crim- 
son sweet  gum  leaves  pressed  against  the 
panes  as  if  to  make  the  most  of  their  little 
moment  for  looking  in. 

Gadabout  passed  through  the  narrow  open- 
ing without  a  stop,  though  carrying  twigs  and 
bright  leaves  away  with  her.  We  ran  the 
next  straight  stretch  of  the  creek,  and  at  the 
bend  came  upon  another  island.  Here  shoals 
and  cypress  stumps  quite  blocked  the  channel. 
In  a  good,  old  landlubberly  manner  we 
hitched  Gadabout  to  a  tree  and  waited  to  see 
if  the  rising  tide  would  make  a  way  for  us. 

Houseboating  was  taking  us  into  strange 
places.  And  yet  what  a  comfortable  way  to 
journey  into  the  world  in  the  rough!  Many 
are  the  advantages  of  houseboating  over 
camping  or  any  other  form  of  outing.  In 
a  floating  home  one  goes  into  the  wild  with- 

158 


out  sacrificing  the  comforts  or  even  the  essen- 
tial refinements  of  life.  For  women  it  is  an 
ideal  way  to  visit  Dame  Nature. 

But  now  the  houseboaters  upon  Gadabout 
were  becoming  fearful  lest  Dame  Nature  had 
closed  her  doors  on  ahead  of  them  and  would 
not  receive  them  up  the  Kittewan.  It  was 
good  news  when  the  sailor  called  from  his 
rowboat  that  he  had  found  a  channel  for  go- 
ing on  around  the  island. 

This  time  Gadabout  showed  a  willingness 
to  go  just  where  we  wished  her  to  go,  but  in- 
sisted upon  doing  it  stern-foremost  or  broad- 
side. We  ran  her  forward  and  backward  and 
poled  most  vigorously;  but  after  all  had  the 
humiliation  of  drifting  around  the  island 
wrong  end  first. 

After  that  there  was  little  trouble  in  going 
up  the  stream.  Before  long  an  old  home- 
stead came  in  sight  on  a  hill  to  our  left,  and 
we  knew  that  it  must  be  Lower  Weyanoke. 
But  an  impassable  marsh  stretched  along  the 
stream,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  a  landing 
or  of  a  roadway  that  might  lead  to  the  house. 
We  kept  on,  curious  now  to  see  how  far  our 
houseboat  could  go.  Suddenly  we  found  out. 
She  turned  a  bend  and,  there  ahead,  hum- 
mocks and  stumps  occupied  about  all  there 
was  left  of  Kittewan  Creek. 

159 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

The  head  of  navigation  had  been  reached 
for  even  our  presumptuous  craft.  An  anchor 
was  cast;  whereupon  Gadabout  swung  to  one 
side,  bumped  against  a  tree,  and  then  settled 
herself  comfortably  in  the  marshes  to  await 
our  pleasure.  It  would  not  do  to  let  the  fall- 
ing tide  catch  us  in  that  place.  Fortunately, 
there  was  a  marshy  cove  on  one  side  of  us, 
and  by  backing  into  that  we  got  turned 
around  and  headed  down  stream  again.  We 
found  a  deep  place  that  would  do  for  an 
anchorage  nearly  opposite  Lower  Weyanoke, 
and  close  beside  a  little  company  of  trees  that 
showered  Gadabout  with  red  and  yellow 
leaves. 

When  the  tide  fell,  it  disclosed  many  roots 
and  stumps  in  the  channel;  and  the  sight  of 
each  one  added  to  our  sense  of  importance  in 
having  successfully  navigated  the  stream. 
Later,  some  of  the  men  from  the  Kittewan 
farm  came  along  in  a  rowboat. 

"Well,  you  did  make  it  after  all,"  they 
said.  '  We've  been  looking  for  you  all  along 
the  creek,  expecting  to  find  you  hung  up  on 
a  cypress  stump." 


160 


CHAPTER    XVI 

IN    WHICH    WE   GET   TO   WEYANOKE 

As  Gadabout  lay  moored  in  Kittewan 
Creek,  the  houses  of  Weyanoke  were  not 
very  far  from  us,  and  one  of  them  was  in 
plain  sight;  but  the  question  was  how  to  get 
to  them.  Wide  stretches  of  marsh  bordered 
the  stream  and  a  wire  fence  ran  along  the 
reedy  edge.  .We  began  to  be  impressed  with 
the  advantage  of  approaching  such  a  planta- 
tion in  the  customary  way,  by  the  river 
front. 

But  we  had  not  lost  zeal  for  the  uncon- 
ventional, and  fortune  favoured  us.  A  man 
passing  in  a  skiff  told  us  that  a  road  leading 
to  the  Weyanoke  houses  could  be  reached  by 
rowing  up  a  tiny  bayou  that  joined  the  creek 
a  short  distance  above  us. 

This  bayou,  he  explained,  was  not  one  of 
those  ordinary  waterways  that  you  can  travel 
on  just  any  time.  In  fact,  for  a  good  deal 
of  the  time  it  was  not  a  waterway  at  all.  But 
usually,  when  a  half  tide  or  more  was  in, 

161 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

a  rowboat  could  be  taken  up  to  the  landing 
near  the  road. 

So,  one  afternoon  an  untenanted  houseboat 
was  left  lying  in  the  sunshine  and  the 
marshes,  all  aboard  having  taken  to  the  shore- 
boats  and  gone  in  search  of  the  more  solid 
portions  of  Weyanoke.  Weyanoke  is  an  In- 
dian name  and  means  "  land  of  sassafras." 
In  1617  the  Indian  chief,  Opechancanough, 
gave  this  land  of  sassafras  to  Sir  George 
Yeardley,  afterward  governor-general  of  the 
colony;  and  his  ownership  gave  early  prom- 
inence to  the  place,  though  he  did  not  live 
upon  the  plantation  that  he  had  here. 

After  several  transfers  of  title,  Weyanoke 
came  into  the  possession  of  Joseph  Ilarwood 
in  1665.  Through  many  generations  both 
the  upper  plantation  and  the  lower  one  re- 
mained in  the  Harwood  family;  and  Upper 
Weyanoke  is  still  owned  by  descendants  of 
Joseph  Harwood,  the  family  of  the  late  Mr. 
Fielding  Lewis  Douthat. 

In  our  search  for  this  land  of  sassafras,  a 
short  row  up  the  creek  took  us  to  the  opening 
into  the  bayou.  Here,  there  was  a  break  in 
the  wire  fence  along  the  creek  guarded  by  a 
queer  water-gate  that  hung  across  the  en- 
trance to  the  side  stream.  Holding  the  water- 
gate  open  and  pushing  our  boats  through, 

162 


IN   WHICH   WE   GET  TO   WEYANOKE 

with  what  skill  might  be  expected  from  per- 
sons who  had  never  seen  a  water-gate  before, 
we  started  up  the  tiny,  winding  channel. 

On  either  hand  the  reeds  were  so  tall  that 
we  were  quite  shut  in  by  them;  but  reeds  are 
never  so  beautiful  as  when  outlined  against 
the  sky.  Here  and  there,  a  stump  or  a  cy- 
press tree  stood  out  in  the  water  almost  bar- 
ring the  way.  Ducks  were  swimming  about 
or  absurdly  standing  on  their  heads  in  the 
shallows,  and  at  our  coming  went  paddling 
off  into  the  sedges  quacking  their  disapproval. 
Before  the  water  quite  gave  out,  we  reached 
the  little  landing.  Now  our  way  led  up  from 
the  lowland  between  hazy  autumn  fields 
where  crows  were  busily  gleaning  and  insects 
shrilled  in  shock  and  stubble. 

The  road  ended  in  front  of  the  house  at 
Lower  Weyanoke.  The  building  is  a  large 
frame  one  and  very  old.  It  has  had  its  full 
share  of  distinction,  being  for  so  many  gen- 
erations the  home  of  the  colonial  family  of 
Harwoods  and  of  their  descendants,  the  Lew- 
ises and  the  Douthats.  Some  years  ago  the 
plantation  passed  to  strangers.  From  the 
riverward  portico,  we  saw  traces  of  an  old 
garden  whose  memory  is  kept  green  by  the 
straggling  box  that  long  ago  bordered  the 
fragrant  flower-beds.  On  beyond  was  a  glint 

163 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

of  the  sun-lit  river.  A  group  of  towering 
cottonwood  trees,  standing  in  the  dooryard, 
is  so  conspicuous  a  feature  of  the  landscape 
that  it  serves  as  a  guide  for  the  pilots  on  the 
river  boats. 

Leaving  the  sailor  here  to  do  some  forag- 
ing in  the  neighbourhood,  we  went  on  to 
Upper  Weyanoke.  We  followed  a  road  that 
skirted  corn  fields  and  pasture  lands,  busy 
plantation  life  on  every  hand.  One  could 
but  think  of  the  very  different  scene  that  was 
here  in  the  days  of  the  Civil  War.  Few 
places  suffered  at  that  time  more  than  did 
Weyanoke.  Here,  part  of  Grant's  army 
crossed  the  James  in  the  march  upon  Peters- 
burg. While  bridges  were  building,  the  Fed- 
eral forces  were  scattered  over  the  planta- 
tion; and  when  at  last  they  crossed  the  river, 
they  left  devastation  behind. 

As  we  came  upon  the  outbuildings  of  the 
upper  plantation,  we  heard  singing  and 
laughter.  Corn-husking  was  going  on  in  the 
big  barn.  The  doors  were  open,  and  from 
the  distant  roadway  we  could  see  the  negroes 
at  work,  bits  of  their  parti -coloured  garb 
showing  bright  against  the  dark  interior. 

And  at  last,  truly  enough,  our  pathway 
led  among  the  chickens  and  the  geese.  In- 
deed, one  blustering  gander  "  quite  thought  to 

164 


IN   WHICH   WE   GET  TO   WEYANOKE 

bar  our  way."    But,  taking  courage  from  the 
stirring  old  couplet, 

"  We  routed  him :   we  scouted  him, 
Nor  lost  a  single  man." 

There  were  other  fowl  in  sight  too;  fowl 
that  had  a  special  significance  just  then. 
For,  despite  the  bright,  warm  days,  the  last 
Thursday  in  November  was  near  at  hand; 
and  we  wondered  whether  our  Thanksgiving 
dinner  could  be  found  in  this  flock  of  plump, 
bronze  birds. 

The  early  plantation  house  at  Upper  Wey- 
anoke  was  long  ago  destroyed  by  fire,  and 
a  modern  house  of  brick  now  stands  upon  the 
old  site.  A  broad,  shaded  lawn  slopes  to  the 
river.  Here  one  gets  an  impressive  view  of 
the  James  as  it  broadens  into  a  curving  bay 
below  Windmill  Point. 

When  we  entered  the  home,  our  interest 
centred  in  its  mistress,  the  little  lady  of  old- 
time  grace  and  courtesy  sitting  by  the  open 
fire.  It  was  later  that  we  noticed  the  two  por- 
traits hanging  near  her  —  one  of  Chief- Jus- 
tice Marshall  and  one  of  a  beautiful  dark- 
eyed  young  woman. 

The  relationship  of  these  three  —  Mrs. 
Douthat,  the  Chief -Justice,  and  the  beautiful 

165 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

young  woman  —  added  to  the  charm  of  our 
talk.  For  the  great  John  Marshall  had  a 
son  John  who  married  Elizabeth  Alexander, 
a  descendant  of  the  colonial  house  of  Thomas ; 
and  that  Elizabeth  Alexander  was  the  girl 
in  the  picture.  John  and  Elizabeth  had  a 
daughter,  and  that  daughter  was  the  sweet 
little  lady  sitting  there  beneath  the  portraits. 
Her  grandfather,  the  Chief-Justice,  named 
her  Mary  Willis  in  memory  of  his  cherished, 
invalid  wife. 

This  Maiy  Willis  Marshall  married  Field- 
ing Lewis  Douthat,  of  the  Harwood  family, 
and  went  as  a  bride  to  Lower  Weyanoke 
when  the  home  there  yet  spoke  bravely  of 
colonial  dignity,  and  the  garden  was  still  fra- 
grant with  trim  bordered  beds  of  bloom. 
Some  years  later,  they  moved  to  Upper  Wey- 
anoke where  Mr.  Douthat  died.  In  the  fam- 
ily circle  as  we  found  it  were  Mrs.  Douthat, 
three  daughters,  and  two  sons. 

While  the  conversation  ranged  wide,  from 
seventeenth  century  plantation  grants  to 
twentieth  century  houseboats,  we  found  our 
attention  drawn  most  to  the  reminiscences 
of  Mrs.  Douthat,  told  in  the  charming  speech 
of  a  day  that  had  time  for  the  art  of  con- 
versation. She  had  childhood  recollections  of 
the  great  Chief -Justice,  and  had  treasured  the 

166 


IN   WHICH   WE   GET  TO   WEYANOKE 

family  traditions  concerning  him.  We  got 
all  too  little  both  of  the  personal  recollections 
and  of  the  traditions;  but  they  made  it  seem 
a  very  real  John  Marshall  that  this  grand- 
daughter of  his  was  talking  about. 

Mrs.  Douthat  could  not  add  much  to  the 
little  that  we  already  knew  about  a  small 
brick  building  on  the  plantation  that  has  long 
been  pointed  out  from  the  steamers'  decks  as 
one  of  the  oldest  buildings  in  the  country. 
It  stands  on  the  river  bluff  near  the  present 
home.  If  as  old  as  is  usually  supposed,  it 
is  doubtless  one  of  the  early  garrison  houses, 
and  must  have  seen  desperate  days  on  this 
Indian-harassed  peninsula. 

In  this  house,  up  to  the  time  of  her  death 
a  few  years  ago,  lived  the  old  mammy  of  the 
family.  She  was  one  of  the  last  of  a  type 
developed  through  generations  of  plantation 
life,  and  now  disappearing  with  it.  Her 
place  was  at  the  end  of  a  long  line  of  dusky 
nurses,  the  first  of  whom  landed  nearly  three 
centuries  ago  at  James  Towne,  and  crooned 
to  the  children  of  the  royal  governors  the 
weird  minor  lullabies  of  jungle-land. 

At  present,  Elias,  a  gray-haired  negro, 
lives  in  the  little  old  house.  Every  morning 
he  goes  to  see  Mrs.  Douthat;  and  he  seldom 
varies  the  greeting :  "  How  is  you  dis 

167 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

mawnin',  Miss  Mary?  I  sut'n'y  is  glad  to 
see  you  able  to  be  up  an'  'roun'.  You  know 
you  an*  me  is  chil'en  of  de  same  day." 

Weyanoke,  like  most  of  the  large  planta- 
tions on  the  James,  has  a  postoffice  in  the 
house.  Our  visit  over,  we  gathered  up  quite 
a  promising  lot  of  mail  and  started  homeward 
with  the  Commodore  looking  like  a  peripa- 
tetic branch  of  the  rural  free  delivery.  Eve- 
ning was  gathering  in  as  we  walked  back 
along  the  .field  roads.  The  air  was  warm,  a 
gentle  breeze  went  rustling  through  the  corn, 
and  the  autumn  haze  just  veiled  field  and 
marsh  and  distant  woods. 

Upon  reaching  our  shore-boat,  we  pushed 
out  upon  the  marsh  waterway.  In  our  ab- 
sence the  tide  had  been  slowly  creeping  up 
on  reeds  and  rushes,  had  reached  its  height, 
and  (leaving  a  brown,  bubbly  line  upon  each 
slender  stalk  to  show  that  the  law  had  been 
fulfilled)  had  started  slowly  down  again. 

But  the  ebb  had  only  begun.  The  marsh 
was  yet  almost  tide-full,  and  all  its  channels 
were  water-lanes.  Each  little  way  was  like 
every  other,  and  one  could  well  wander  amiss 
down  between  those  winding  walls  of  sedges. 

We  paddled  very  slowly,  often  stopping  to 
let  the  boat  drift  on  the  ebb  tide.  Why  might 
we  not  find  out  the  secret  of  the  marshes  if 

1G8 


IN   WHICH    WE    GET   TO    WEYANOKE 

we  went  very  softly  through  the  heart  of  them? 
-that  secret  of  which  the  slender  reeds  are 
always  whispering;  that  mystery  that  keeps 
them  always  a-shiver.  Is  it  something  they 
have  hidden  from  the  searching  tide?  Is  it 
known  to  the  little  marsh-hen  that  cunningly 
builds  her  nest  at  the  foot  of  the  sedges?  Is 
it  guessed  by  the  restless  finny  folk  that  slip 
and  search  beneath  the  brown  waters? 

Holding  our  boat  quiet  in  the  ebbing 
bayou,  we  looked  and  listened.  There  were 
sounds  of  sibilant  dripping  in  the  dim  sedges; 
of  alewives  jumping  by  the  side  of  our  boat; 
of  a  sudden  rush  of  blackbird  wings;  and 
of  the  evening  breeze  as  it  freshened  in  the 
bending  blades.  We  could  see  the  many  riv- 
ulets, wine-red  now  in  the  sunset  light;  and 
the  graceful  swaying  of  great  grasses,  pale 
green  and  silver  and  tan;  and  the  red  and 
golden  sky  above:  ebbing  rivulets,  rippling 
reeds,  drifting  clouds,  and  sunset  shades. 
And  that  was  all.  NOT  had  we  guessed  the 
secret  of  the  marshes. 

Yet,  we  should  have  been  content  still  to 
look  and  to  listen,  down  in  the  hidden  tiny 
ways  of  the  marshland,  but  for  the  fading 
light  that  warned  us  homeward.  What  would 
night  be  among  the  sedges  with  the  wander- 
ing rivulets  full  of  twinkling  stars,  with  the 

169 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

soft  calling  of  wakeful  birds,  and  with  the 
skurrying  of  little  creatures  in  their  shadowy 
forest  of  reeds? 

Slowly  we  paddled  on  in  the  twilight;  on 
through  the  little  water-gate  and  out  upon 
the  Kittewan,  where  images  of  the  bordering 
trees  lay  sharp  and  black  on  the  strangely 
purple  water.  From  down-stream  where 
Gadabout  waited,  came  such  a  fervent  burst 
of  song  that  we  knew  that  the  entire  crew 
was  urging  its  soul  to  be  on  guard  - 

"  Te-en  thou-san'  foes  ah-rise." 


170 


CHAPTER    XVII 

ACROSS   RIVER  TO   FLEUR   DE   HUNDRED 

THE  next  day  we  determined  to  run  around 
to  the  river  front  of  Weyanoke.  We  were 
yet  charmed  with  the  idea  of  being  back-door 
neighbours  of  the  old  plantation;  but  not  at 
quite  such  long  range.  When  the  tide  served, 
Gadabout  dropped  down  the  twisting  Kitte- 
wan.  Though  she  paused  involuntarily  in 
trying  to  round  the  island  where  the  sweet 
gum  flamed  against  the  pines,  and  caught  her 
propeller  on  a  cypress  stump  as  she  sighted 
the  dormer  windows  of  the  old  house  on  the 
hill,  yet  she  came  in  good  time  to  the  clear 
channel  and,  passing  the  tangled  underwood 
that  hid  the  forsaken  tomb,  she  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  creek  before  the  tide  turned  and 
started  up  the  James  on  the  last  of  the 
flood. 

Weyanoke  plantation  is  a  peninsula  lying 
in  a  sharp  elbow  of  the  river,  so  that  it  was 
a  run  of  a  few  miles  from  the  mouth  of  Kitte- 

171 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

wan  Creek,  on  one  side  of  the  peninsula, 
around  to  the  Weyanoke  pier  on  the  other 
side. 

Upon  reaching  the  sharp  bend  in  the  river 
at  the  point  of  the  peninsula,  we  could  see 
one  reason  anyway  why  Grant  should  have 
chosen  this  as  a  place  for  crossing  the  James. 
Here,  the  banks  of  the  river  suddenly  draw 
close  so  that  the  stream  is  less  than  half  a 
mile  wide.  However,  it  makes  up  in  depth 
what  it  has  lost  in  width,  the  channel  at  this 
point  being  from  eighty  to  ninety  feet  deep. 
Even  at  the  last  of  the  tide  the  water  here 
flowed  swiftly  and  with  ugly  swirls  and  oily 
whirlpools  that  made  the  river  seem  vicious. 

Now,  we  ran  toward  the  southern  shore  to 
look  at  the  ruins  of  a  fort  built  in  the  War 
of  1812.  The  sun  was  setting  beyond  the 
high  bluff  that  backed  the  fort,  and  the  place 
lay  blurred  in  the  shadow;  but  apparently 
time,  and  perhaps  the  hard  knocks  of  war, 
had  not  left  much  of  Fort  Powhatan.  Two 
creeks  that  enter  the  James  near  the  old  fort 
received  our  close  scrutiny,  for  every  side 
stream  tempted  us.  We  would  wonder  how 
far  Gadabout  could  follow  each  winding  way, 
and  what  she  might  find  up  there. 

A  short  run  farther  up  the  river  took  us 
abreast  the  pier  at  Upper  Weyanoke;  and, 

172 


ACROSS   RIVER   TO    FLEUR   DE   HUNDRED 

passing  around  it,  we  cast  anchor  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  the  plantation  home. 

We  sat  out  in  the  cockpit  a  long  time  that 
night  enjoying  the  strangely  quiet  mood  of 
the  Powhatan.  The  old  river  flowed  so  peace- 
fully that  it  mirrored  all  the  sky  above;  and 
we  looked  down  into  a  maze  of  stars  with 
the  sea-tide  running  through.  Then  a  blind- 
ing light  put  out  all  our  stars  as  the  night 
boat  from  Richmond  came  down  the  river 
and  trained  her  searchlight  so  that  it  picked 
Gadabout  out  of  the  darkness.  Our  whistle 
saluted  with  three  good  blasts.  The  search- 
light responded  by  making  three  profound 
bows  —  so  profound  that  they  reached  from 
the  high  heavens  down  to  the  water  at  our 
feet.  Then,  it  suddenly  whipped  to  the  front 
to  pick  out  the  steamer's  course  again  through 
the  darkness  of  the  night. 

While  lying  at  anchor  in  front  of  Upper 
Weyanoke,  we  made  further  visits  at  the 
plantation  home.  Despite  the  ravages  of  war 
and  of  two  destructive  fires,  relics  of  old-time 
life  are  at  this  plantation  too.  It  was  pitiful, 
but  amusing  as  well,  to  hear  how  some  of 
these  escaped  the  war-time  vandalism.  The 
soldiers  who  had  stripped  the  home  —  even 
of  carpets  —  when  they  left  the  plantation  to 
cross  the  James,  would  have  been  chagrined 

173 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

could  they  have  looked  back  over  the  river 
and  have  seen  old  family  treasures  coming 
out  from  secret  nooks  and  old  family  silver 
from  a  hollow  tree. 

Mrs.  Douthat  told  us  how  Nature  favoured 
Grant  in  the  crossing  of  the  James.  Though 
comparatively  the  river  is  so  narrow  at  the 
point  of  the  Weyanoke  peninsula,  yet  to  get 
to  the  stream  at  that  point  it  was  necessary 
for  the  Federal  forces  to  traverse  an  extensive 
swamp.  Apparently  the  swamp  was  im- 
passable; but  the  officers  found,  running 
through  it,  a  most  peculiar  formation  —  a 
natural  ridge  of  solid  earth.  It  was  a  ready- 
made  military  roadway  upon  which  the  troops 
could  pass  through  the  swamp  and  reach  the 
river.  Mr.  Douthat  always  declared  that 
"  The  Almighty  had  built  it  for  them." 

Across  the  James  from  Weyanoke  lies 
Fleur  de  Hundred.  One  day,  with  a  daugh- 
ter and  a  son  of  the  Weyanoke  household 
aboard,  we  sailed  over  to  visit  the  old  plan- 
tation. We  knew  that  we  should  find  noth- 
ing in  the  way  of  plantation  life  there,  as 
the  estate  has  long  lain  idle;  and  we  knew 
also  that  no  mark  was  left  on  the  broad  acres 
to  tell  of  the  life  of  colonial  days.  But  the 
broad  acres  themselves  were  there,  and  they 
would  remember  the  old  times  no  doubt;  and 

174 


ACROSS   RIVER  TO   FLEUR   DE   HUNDRED 

perhaps,  lying  in  the  sunshine  and  with  noth- 
ing in  the  world  to  do,  they  might  tell  us 
things. 

We  knew  somewhat  about  Fleur  de  Hun- 
dred ourselves.  In  1618  Sir  George  Yeardley, 
governor  of  the  colony  (the  same  who  owned 
Weyanoke),  patented  these  lands  and  gave 
them  the  name  that  has  scarcely  been  spelled 
twice  alike  since.  Sir  George  sold  the  plan- 
tation to  Captain  Abraham  Piersey. 

We  sought  to  trace  the  successive  owners 
on  beyond  Abraham;  but  they  married  and 
died  at  such  a  rate  that  we  got  lost  in  the 
confusion  somewhere  between  the  altar  and 
the  tomb,  and  gave  the  matter  up.  Two  well 
established  customs  among  the  early  colonists 
seem  to  have  been  to  die  early  and  to  marry 
often.  Perhaps  they  usually  reversed  the 
order;  but,  at  any  rate,  dying  in  middle  age 
after  having  married  "  thirdly  "  or  "  fifthly  " 
—  yes,  even  "  sixthly  "  —  makes  top-heavy 
family  trees  and  puzzling  lines  of  descent. 

In  this  instance,  we  were  quite  content  to 
skip  to  the  opening  of  the  nineteenth  century 
when  Fleur  de  Hundred  became  the  property 
of  John  V.  Willcox,  in  whose  descendants  it 
has  ever  since  remained. 

Landing  upon  a  pebbly  beach  beside  the 
ruins  of  a  pier,  we  took  a  long  walk  inland 

175 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

to  the  present-day  home.  While  historic 
Fleur  de  Hundred  is  now  allowed  to  lie  idle, 
its  plantation  life  all  gone,  yet  its  home  life 
continues  and  the  old-time  hospitality  re- 
mains, as  we  found  in  that  afternoon  visit. 
And  when  we  set  our  faces  toward  Gadabout 
again,  Nautica  had  roses  and  lavender  and 
violets  from  an  old  garden  that  refused  to 
stop  blooming  with  the  rest  of  the  plantation, 
and  the  Commodore  treasured  a  rare  pam- 
phlet upon  early  Virginia  that  only  Virginia 
courtesy  would  have  entrusted  to  a  stran- 
ger. 

Through  the  quiet  of  the  sleeping  planta- 
tion, we  took  our  way  toward  the  river. 
Some  bees  had  found  late  sweetness  along 
the  overgrown  roadway.  The  air  was  still 
and  swreet  with  the  scent  of  sun-drying  herbs. 
A  lagging  sail  was  on  old  Powhatan.  About 
us  on  every  hand  lay  the  historic  soil  of  Fleur 
de  Hundred.  We  wondered  where  the 
manor-house  had  stood  in  those  early  colonial 
days  when  Sir  George  Yeardley,  the  gov- 
ernor, made  his  home  here,  with  many  in- 
dented servants  and  half  the  negroes  in  the 
colony  to  serve  him;  and  where  had  been  the 
several  dwellings  and  store-houses,  stoutly 
palisaded,  that  had  formed  quite  a  village  for 
his  day. 

176 


ACROSS   RIVER   TO   FLEUR   DE   HUNDRED 

It  is  not  recorded  that  the  Governor  was 
a  great  smoker,  but  he  was  an  enthusiastic 
grower  of  tobacco  and  may  almost  be  said 
to  have  been  the  father  of  the  industry. 
Doubtless,  in  his  time,  most  of  these  fertile 
acres  were  covered  with  the  strange  weed  that 
the  Englishmen  had  got  from  the  village  gar- 
dens of  the  red  man. 

But  here  were  grown  maize  and  wheat  also ; 
and  to  grind  these  Sir  George  built  —  over 
there  on  the  point  of  the  plantation  —  the 
first  windmill  in  America. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  savages,  he  must  have 
waxed  to  the  stature  of  a  great  medicine  man, 
when  he  made  of  wood  the  long  arms  that 
beckoned  to  the  winds  and  made  them  come 
to  grind  his  grain.  Through  all  time,  had 
not  their  fathers  (or  rather  their  mothers) 
had  to  steep  grain  for  twelve  hours;  then 
laboriously  pound  it  in  stone  mortars;  and 
then  sift  it  through  baskets  woven  of  river 
reeds? 

Less  matter  for  wonderment  was  that  long- 
armed  creature  on  the  point  of  land  to  Hans 
Houten  and  Heinrich  Elkens,  sailing  up  the 
James  in  the  White  Dove  with  good  Holland 
sack  for  barter.  These  sturdy  mariners  from 
the  dyke-and-windmill  country  would  regard 
the  contrivance  with  more  critical  eyes  than 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

could  the  red  man  from  the  bow-and-arrow 
wilderness. 

But  we  saw  nothing  of  windmill  or  of  pali- 
saded village  or  of  royal  governor;  and  field 
and  meadow  and  woodland  all  seemed  too 
sleepy  to  tell  us  much  about  them.  They 
only  served  to  recall  the  tantalizing,  broken 
bits  that  the  records  give  of  the  picturesque 
life  that  was  here  —  of  colonial  pomp  and 
savage  dignity,  of  London  trade  and  Indian 
barter,  of  English  games  and  merriment,  of 
colonial  trials  and  tragedies:  all  this  of  which 
we  know,  yet  know  so  little. 

And  so  we  left  the  old  plantation  dreaming 
in  the  autumn  sunshine  —  left  it  to  the  poets 
and  to  the  story-tellers,  who  seem  to  have 
adopted  it.  They  know  how  to  weave  the 
spells  that  bring  back  old  manor-houses  and 
gallants  and  ladies  and  tall  London  ships  and 
the  vanished  scenes  of  love  and  of  war.  The 
place  belongs  to  them;  old  Fleur  de  Hun- 
dred —  half  real  and  half  ideal  —  an  old-time 
bit  of  story-land. 


178 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

GADABOUT   GOES  TO   CHURCH 

IT  was  the  day  before  Thanksgiving  when 
the  houseboat  Gadabout,  with  her  good-byes 
all  said,  fished  up  her  anchor  from  the  river 
bottom  in  front  of  Weyanoke,  and  started 
off  to  find  another  place  to  drop  it  farther 
up  the  stream.  She  was  ready  for  the  holi- 
day. The  material  for  her  Thanksgiving  din- 
ner was  all  aboard:  part  of  it  canned  and 
boxed  as  the  steamer  had  just  brought  it  from 
Norfolk;  and  the  rest  of  it,  and  the  best  of 
it,  plump  and  gobbling  on  the  stern. 

But  Gadabout's  preparations  for  the  day 
had  not  stopped  here.  Not  only  had  she  pro- 
vided the  season's  feast,  but  she  had  diligently 
inquired  of  her  chart  and  of  her  neighbours 
where  she  might  take  her  family  to  church. 
The  chart  had  told  her  of  a  little  stream, 
called  Herring  Creek,  a  few  miles  farther 
up  the  James,  and  had  shown  her  a  mark 
upon  the  bank  of  the  creek  that  it  called 
Westover  Church.  The  neighbours  had  said 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

that  the  chart  was  right;  and  had  added  that 
the  church  was  a  colonial  one  still  in  use,  and 
doubtless  Thanksgiving  services  would  be 
held  there.  Fortunately,  Herring  Creek  was 
a  stream  that  Gadabout  had  intended  running 
into  anyway,  as  it  would  be  the  anchorage 
most  convenient  to  the  next  colonial  estate 
that  she  should  visit  —  the  plantation  of 
Westover  from  which  the  church  had  taken 
its  name. 

From  Weyanoke  to  the  old  church  was 
not  very  far;  but,  as  Gadabout  had  one  or 
two  things  to  stop  for  on  the  way  and  as  she 
might  be  delayed  by  the  tide,  this  bright 
Wednesday  morning  found  her  bustling  up 
the  river  almost  afraid  that  she  would  be  late 
for  service. 

Doubtless,  in  her  haste,  she  was  quite  put 
out  when  we  threw  the  wheel  to  starboard 
as  she  was  passing  Court  House  Creek,  and 
carried  her  somewhat  out  of  her  way.  All 
that  we  did  it  for  was  to  run  in  close  to  look 
at  some  "  stobs "  just  showing  above  the 
water.  At  the  mouths  of  most  of  the  creeks 
along  the  James  are  such  "  stobs  "  or  broken 
pilings.  They  are  the  ruins  of  old-time  piers, 
the  last  vestige  of  a  vanished,  picturesque 
river  trade. 

Ancient  pilings  have  lasted  well  in  the 
180 


GADABOUT   GOES  TO    CHURCH 

James;  and  these  evidently  once  belonged  to 
the  piers  of  up-creek  colonial  planters.  They 
tell  of  the  day  when  ships  from  England, 
Holland,  and  the  Indies  sailed  up  the  river 
for  barter  with  the  colonists.  While  the 
planters  whose  estates  fronted  directly  on  the 
James  received  their  importations  upon 
wharves  before  their  doors  and  delivered 
their  tobacco  in  the  same  convenient  manner, 
the  planters  up  the  creeks  were  at  more 
trouble  in  the  matter.  The  bars  at  the 
mouths  of  the  streams  kept  the  ships  from 
entering;  and  they  had  to  wait  outside  while 
the  planters  brought  their  produce  down 
upon  rafts  and  in  shallow-draft  barges,  pi- 
rogues, and  shallops. 

Some  of  the  most  picturesque  of  the  colo- 
nial river  trade  was  at  these  little  creek-mouth 
piers.  Here  came  not  only  the  tall  ships 
from  England  bearing  everything  used  upon 
the  plantations  from  match-locks  and  armour 
to  satin  bodice  and  perfumed  periwig,  from 
plow  and  spit  to  Turkey-worked  chairs  and 
silver  plate,  from  oatmeal,  cheese,  and  wine 
to  nutmegs  and  Shakespeare's  plays;  but 
here  came  also  tramp  craft  —  broad,  deep- 
laden  bottoms  from  the  Netherlands,  and 
English  and  Dutch  boats  from  the  West 
Indies.  These  picturesque  vagrant  sails 

181 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

sought  their  customers  from  landing  to  land- 
ing, and  sold  their  cargoes  at  comparatively 
low  prices.  Such  a  ship  was  a  sort  of  bar- 
gain boat  for  these  scattered  settlers  up  the 
creeks  of  the  James;  a  queer,  transient  de- 
partment store  at  the  little  cross-roads  of 
tidewater. 

There  would  be  exchange  of  news  as  well 
as  of  commodities,  and  a  friendly  rivalry  in 
the  matter  of  tales  of  adventure  —  the  plant- 
er's story  of  Indian  attacks  being  pitted 
against  the  captain's  yarn  of  the  "  pyrats  " 
that  gave  him  chase  off  the  "  Isle  of  Devils." 
Then  up  the  masts  of  the  trading  ship  the 
sails  would  go  clacking,  and  the  prow  that 
had  touched  the  warm  wharves  of  the  Indies 
would  point  up  the  river  again,  bound  for 
the  next  landing.  And  the  shallops  of  the 
planter  —  after  loading  from  the  little  pier 
with  casks  and  bales  still  strong  of  the  ship's 
hold,  of  the  tar  of  the  ropes,  of  the  salt  of 
the  sea  —  would  disappear  up  the  forest 
stream. 

A  short  distance  above  Court  House  Creek, 
Gadabout  stopped  at  a  landing  to  get  some 
oil.  She  was  rather  hurried  and  flustered 
about  the  matter,  as  the  steamer  from  Peters- 
burg was  coming  around  the  point  above  and 
would  soon  be  making  this  same  landing,  and 

182 


GADABOUT   GOES  TO   CHURCH 

a  schooner  that  was  loading  was  right  in  the 
way,  and  the  first  line  that  was  thrown  out 
broke,  and  the  engine  stopped  at  the  wrong 
time,  and  —  all  those  people  looking  on !  Be- 
sides, this  was  supposed  to  be  an  interesting 
fishing  point;  but  how  was  a  little  house- 
boat to  get  a  look  at  it,  lying  there  alongside 
a  big  schooner  that  she  couldn't  see  over? 
Altogether,  Gadabout  fumed  and  fussed  so 
much  here,  pitching  about  in  the  choppy 
water,  jerking  her  ropes,  and  battering  her 
big  neighbour,  that  it  was  a  relief  to  all  con- 
cerned when  she  got  her  oil  aboard,  cast  off 
her  ropes,  and,  giving  the  schooner  a  last 
vindictive  dig  in  the  ribs,  set  off  up  the  river. 

Even  after  getting  away  from  the  schooner 
there  was  not  much  to  be  seen  at  the  landing. 
Yet,  in  season,  the  little  place  would  be  quite 
quaint  and  bustling;  for  it  was  one  of  the 
many  fishing  hamlets  along  the  river. 

The  James  has  always  been  a  favourite 
spawning-ground  for  sturgeon.  Those  first 
colonists,  writing  enthusiastically  of  the  new- 
found river,  declared  "  As  for  Sturgeon,  all 
the  World  cannot  be  compared  to  it."  They 
told  of  a  unique  and  spirited  way  the  Indians 
had  of  catching  these  huge,  lubberly  fish.  In 
a  narrow  bend  of  the  river  where  the  sturgeon 
crowded,  an  adroit  fisherman  would  clap  a 

183 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

noose  over  the  tail  of  a  great  fish  (a  fish 
perhaps  much  larger  than  himself)  and  go 
plunging  about  with  his  powerful  captive. 
And  he  was  accounted  "  cockarouse,"  brave 
fellow,  who  kept  his  hold,  diving  and  swim- 
ming, and  finally  towed  his  catch  ashore. 

The  colonists  early  turned  their  attention 
to  sturgeon  fishing.  The  roe  they  prepared 
and  shipped  abroad  for  the  Russians'  piquant 
table  delicacy.  The  grim  irony  of  it  —  half 
famished  colonists  shipping  caviar! 

To-day  the  coming  of  the  sturgeon  puts 
life  into  the  little  hamlets  like  the  one  we  had 
just  passed,  and  dots  their  sandy  beaches  with 
the  bateaux  and  the  drying  nets  of  the  fisher- 
men. 

We  passed  the  down-bound  steamer  near 
Buckler's  Point  and  her  heavy  swell  came 
rolling  across  toward  us.  Almost  instinct- 
ively we  turned  our  craft  crosswise  to  the 
river  to  face  the  coming  waves;  for  to  take 
them  broadside  meant  a  weary  picking  up 
of  fragments  from  the  cabin  floors,  and  a 
premature  commingling  of  the  contents  of 
the  refrigerator.  Just  beyond  Buckler's 
Point  we  came  to  the  opening  into  Herring 
Creek  and,  passing  readily  over  the  bar,  went 
on  up  the  little  stream.  As  we  sailed  along 
we  caught  glimpses  to  port  of  the  warm,  red 

184 


A    FISHING    HAMLET. 


A    RIVER    LANDING. 


GADABOUT   GOES   TO    CHURCH 

walls  of  a  stately  building  that  we  knew  to 
be  Westover. 

We  found  Herring  Creek  a  good,  lazy 
houseboating  waterway;  a  brown  ribbon  of 
marsh  stream  wandering  aimlessly  among  the 
rushes.  Turn  after  turn,  and  the  marshes  still 
kept  us  company  —  the  quiet,  lone  marshes 
that  had  come  to  have  such  a  charm  for  us. 
Evidently,  they  were  beginning  to  feel  that 
the  year  was  growing  old.  Greens  were  so- 
bering into  browns,  and  near  the  water's  edge 
were  tips  of  silvery  white.  The  frowsy-look- 
ing grassy  bunches,  here  and  there,  were 
ducking  blinds,  where  hunters  soon  would  be 
in  hiding  with  their  wooden  decoys  floating 
near. 

Like  some  great  marsh  creature  herself, 
Gadabout  followed  the  winding  way,  puff- 
ing along  contentedly.  Sometimes,  when  the 
turns  were  too  sharp  for  her  liking,  she  swung 
to  them  lazily,  with  a  long  purr  of  water  at 
bow  and  stern,  and  seemed  about  to  wallow 
off  through  the  rushes. 

Now  something  of  a  bank  developed  along 
our  starboard  side.  It  grew  into  a  bluff  cov- 
ered with  pines  and  thick-coated  cedars  and 
white-trunked  sycamores  and  gray  beeches. 
This  woodland  too  had  the  year  writ  old. 
The  surviving  green  of  cedar  and  pine  could 

185 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

not  hide  the  telltale  leafless  trees  that  stood 
between.  But  more  significant  than  leafless 
trees  was  the  luxuriant  holly  with  its  ripe,  red 
berries,  gayly  ready  for  Christmas  decora- 
tions and  to  grace  the  birth  of  a  new  year. 

And  yet,  these  were  among  the  most  glori- 
ous days  for  houseboating :  tonic  days  with 
a  hint  of  winter  in  the  chill,  crisp  air,  and 
dreamy  days  with  a  lingering  of  summer  in 
the  sun's  warm  glow.  The  enervating  heat 
was  over,  and  the  worrisome  insects  were 
gone.  In  peace  wre  could  sail  in  the  marsh 
stream  or  climb  the  banks  for  ferns  and  holly. 
Gadabout  moved  with  masses  of  pale  reeds, 
spicy  boughs  of  cedar,  bay  branches,  and 
glowing  holly  nodding  on  her  bow.  The  air 
was  no  longer  filled  with  the  song  of  birds; 
but  it  was  alive  and  cheerily  a-twitter  with 
their  fat  flittings  from  seeds  to  berries,  from 
marsh  to  woodland.  Heartily  we  declared 
that  it  was  better  to  go  an-Autumning  than 
a-Maying. 

After  a  while  there  were  signs  of  people 
about.  Little  boats  were  nosing  into  the  bank 
here  and  there,  and  occasionally  a  white  farm- 
house would  peep  over  the  bluff  above  our 
water-trail. 

It  was  along  toward  dinner  time  when, 
according  to  our  count,  the  houseboat  had 

186 


•'v   7  \ 


GADABOUT   GOES   TO    CHURCH 

rounded  as  many  bends  as  the  chart  seemed 
to  require,  and  ought  to  be  near  Westover 
Church.  So,  upon  catching  sight  through  the 
trees  of  a  brick  building  up  on  the  bluff,  we 
concluded  that  Gadabout  had  reached  her 
journey's  end,  and  an  anchor  was  dropped. 

Toward  evening  Nautica  and  the  Commo- 
dore went  ashore.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  was 
a  little  graveyard,  and  standing  in  it  was  the 
old  church  that  we  had  come  to  see.  It  was 
a  small  building  and  plain,  but  of  historic 
interest.  As  originally  built,  about  the  middle 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  it  stood  not  here 
but  down  on  the  shore  of  the  James  at  West- 
over.  One  of  the  earliest  churches  in  the 
country,  and  then  standing  on  one  of  the 
greatest  estates  in  Virginia,  it  was  a  typical 
centre  of  colonial  life;  and  gathered  about 
it,  in  the  little  graveyard  by  the  river,  were 
the  tombs  of  noted  colonial  dead. 

About  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century 
the  church  was  moved  to  its  present  site.  En- 
closed within  a  brick  wall  and  with  the  tombs 
of  generations  of  worshippers  again  cluster- 
ing about  it,  Westover  Church  had  settled 
down  once  more  to  revered  old  age  when  the 
ravages  of  war  swept  over  the  land.  In  that 
sad  war  of  brothers  over  a  union  that  this 
church  had  seen  formed,  over  soil  that  it  had 

187 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

seen  won  from  Great  Britain,  the  humble  old 
House  of  God  was  left  dismantled,  its  grave- 
yard walls  thrown  down,  and  its  tombs 
broken.  After  the  war,  the  church  was  re- 
paired, and  it  is  still  the  place  of  worship 
for  the  countryside. 

The  rectory  stood  on  a  bluff  near  by,  over- 
looking the  wide  stretch  of  marsh  and  the 
far  windings  of  the  stream.  We  found  that 
the  latest  of  the  long  line  of  rectors  and 
equally  important  rectors'  wives  that  West- 
over  Church  has  known  were  the  Reverend 
and  Mrs.  Cornick,  who  told  us  of  the  hopes 
of  the  little  community  that  the  Government 
would  yet  pay  indemnity  for  the  injury  done 
by  Federal  soldiers  to  the  old  church. 

The  next  morning  brought  so  fine  a 
Thanksgiving  Day  that  our  gratitude  rose  up 
with  the  sun  —  though  the  rest  of  us  awaited 
a  more  convenient  hour.  The  air  was  crisp; 
the  sky  was  unclouded.  When,  in  good  time 
for  morning  service,  we  went  up  the  hill  to 
the  old  brick  church,  we  saw  horses  and  car- 
riages lined  along  the  fence.  Inside  the 
building  some  of  the  people  who  had  come 
early  were  having  neighbourly  confidences 
over  the  backs  of  the  pews. 

Xaturally  our  thoughts  went  wandering 
between  service  and  sermon  and  church. 

188 


GADABOUT   GOES   TO   CHURCH 

Sometimes  (and  through  no  fault  of  the  good 
rector  either),  we  would  find  ourselves  far 
back  in  the  story  of  that  colonial  house  of 
worship,  and  full  two  hundred  years  away 
from  the  text.  We  would  see  this  old  church 
as  it  stood  at  first  on  the  wild  bank  of  the 
James,  and  the  families  of  those  early  plant- 
ers gathering  in.  They  would  come  from  up 
and  down  the  river;  some  in  pirogues  and 
pinnaces  and  sloops,  and  some  on  horseback 
with  the  fair  dames  on  pillions  behind.  Or, 
somewhat  later,  lordly  coaches  would  roll  to 
the  door  bearing  colonial  grandees. 

The  plain  little  church  had  seen  brave  at- 
tire in  those  days,  when  the  parish  worshipped 
in  flowered  silks  and  embroidered  waistcoats 
and  laced  head-dresses  and  powdered  peri- 
wigs. Then,  after  the  services,  would  come 
the  social  hour,  when  dinner  invitations  went 
round,  parties  were  planned,  and  there  was 
a  general  changing  about  of  the  guests  that 
were  always  filling  Virginia  homes.  Doubt- 
less, the  lavish  hospitality  of  the  master  of 
Westover,  who  attended  this  church,  caused 
quite  a  Sunday  pilgrimage  to  that  mansion 
of  his  that  we  had  glimpsed  through  the  trees 
as  Gadabout  entered  Herring  Creek. 

We  went  out  past  chatting  groups  (stop- 
ping for  the  greeting  of  the  rector  and  his 

189 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

wife) ;  past  horses  that  were  being  unhitched 
and  vehicles  that  were  cramping  and  creak- 
ing; on  down  to  the  stream  where  geese  were 
paddling  in  the  marshes,  and  overhead  the 
rectory  doves  were  wheeling  in  the  sunny  air. 
Rowing  down  the  creek  toward  the  house- 
boat, we  stopped  here  and  there  to  gather 
reeds  and  holly. 

'  This  is  the  first  time  that  we  have  ever 
gone  to  church  by  boat,"  said  the  Commo- 
dore. 

'  Yes,"  answered  Nautica,  "  and  it  was 
just  the  way  to  do  it.  We  have  attended  a 
colonial  church  in  a  quite  colonial  way." 

When  we  sat  down  to  our  Thanksgiving 
dinner,  we  felt  almost  like  landlubbers  again; 
for  while  our  home  acre  was  a  watery  one 
and  Gadabout,  boat-like,  swung  and  swayed, 
yet  we  had  real  neighbours  up  on  the  bluff 
and  there  was  even  a  church  next  door. 
Later,  we  saw  coming  down  the  stream  some 
good  after-dinner  cheer  —  our  rowboat  with 
mail  that  had  been  accumulating  for  days  at 
Westover.  Letters  and  papers  and  packages 
and  magazines  were  welcomed  aboard.  Com- 
fortably we  settled  down  for  an  evening  of 
catching  up  with  the  world. 

Next  morning  Gadabout  made  an  unevent- 
ful run  down  the  stream,  anchored  just  within 

190 


GADABOUT   GOES   TO    CHURCH 

the  mouth  of  the  creek,  and  sent  Henry  off 
into  the  country  foraging. 

Of  course  certain  provisioning  arrange- 
ments followed  Gadabout  from  harbour  to 
harbour.  Boxes  of  groceries  came  up  from 
Norfolk  or  down  from  Richmond  by  steamer; 
and  also  every  few  days  a  big  cake  of  ice 
arrived  in  a  travelling  suit  of  burlap  lined 
with  sawdust.  But  that  still  left  many  things 
to  be  obtained  along  the  way.  As  most  of 
the  country  stores  were  back  from  the  river, 
the  sailor,  on  horseback  or  in  a  cart,  made 
many  a  long  provisioning  trip. 

Toward  evening  when  there  came  a  gentle 
bump  upon  Gadabout's  guard  and  the  rattle 
of  a  chain  upon  her  cleat,  we  went  out  to  see 
what  the  supply  boat  had  brought.  As  soon 
as  we  heard  the  troubled  sputtering,  "  An* 
I  mos'  give  up  gittin'  anything,"  we  knew 
that  the  little  shore-boat  was  a  nautical  horn 
of  plenty.  And  so  she  proved  as  her  cargo 
came  aboard  to  an  accompaniment  of  running 
comment. 

"  I  don'  know  where  I  been,  an'  if  I  had 
to  go  back,  I  couldn'  do  it.  That's  butter 
there  —  that'll  do  till  the  nex'  box  comes. 
The  store  didn'  have  much  of  anything;  an* 
I  struck  out  into  the  country,  I  did,  an'  mos' 
los'  myse'f.  But  the  horse  he  knowed  the 

191 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

way.  I  got  another  turkey,  anyhow.  I'm 
cert'nly  glad  we  jes'  begun  to  eat  'em  if  we 
got  to  eat  'em  steady.  The  man  had  done 
sold  him;  but  I  used  my  silver  tongue,  I  did, 
an'  he  let  me  have  him.  There's  some  apples 
an'  turnips  an'  sweet  potatoes.  I  got  them 
at  the  store.  An'  where  I  got  them  eggs  at, 
I  could  get  a  couple  of  chickens  nex'  week 
if  I  could  jes'  fin'  the  place." 

So  the  fruits  of  the  foraging  came  tum- 
bling aboard  —  a  promising,  goodly  array. 
And  Gadabout  had  no  troubled  dreams  that 
night  of  a  wolf  swimming  up  to  her  door. 


192 


CHAPTER   XIX 

WESTOVER,    THE    HOME   OF   A    COLONIAL    BELLE 

ON  the  following  day,  Gadabout  scrambled 
across  the  flats  out  into  the  James  again,  in- 
tent upon  a  visit  to  Westover. 

Unlike  Brandon,  Westover  stands  within 
sight  from  the  river;  and  we  had  a  good  view 
of  the  old  homestead  as  we  passed  by  to  make 
our  landing  at  the  steamer  pier  which  is  a 
little  above  the  house. 

There  was  a  break  in  the  tree-fringe  on 
the  north  bank  of  the  James.  A  sea-wall 
extended  along  the  water's  edge,  and  from 
either  end  of  it  a  brick  wall  ran  far  inland. 
Within  the  spacious  enclosure,  the  grounds 
swept  back  and  up  from  the  river,  with  noble 
trees  and  close-cut  lawn;  and  crowning  the 
slope  stood  the  beautiful  old  mansion.  A 
stately  central  building  of  red  brick,  with 
dormer  windows  in  its  steep-pitched  roof, 
rose  between  low  flanking  corridors  and  wings 
like  some  overlord  with  his  faithful  vassals 
in  attendance.  In  neutral  brown  the  quiet 

193 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

river,  in  shadowy  green  the  sloping  lawn,  in 
dull  red  and  gleaming  white  the  lofty,  many- 
windowed  front  of  Westover  —  a  picture  that 
drew  Gadabout  in  close  to  the  shoals  that 
day. 

The  hit  of  history  that  goes  with  the  pic- 
ture gives  us  many  glimpses  of  old-time  ele- 
gance and  romance,  and  helps  us  to  a  good 
idea  of  some  of  the  pretentious  phases  of 
colonial  life.  It  runs  in  this  way. 

Back  in  the  beginnings  of  things  Ameri- 
can, when  the  dissatisfied  planters  at  James 
Towne  were  starting  out  to  establish  their 
estates  along  the  river,  these  lands  by  Her- 
ring Creek  attracted  attention.  Under  the 
name  of  Westover  they  soon  became  the 
property  of  the  Byrd  family,  and  rose  to 
prominence  among  colonial  estates  in  connec- 
tion with  the  fortunes  of  that  distinguished 
house. 

The  golden  age  of  Westover  was  in  the 
days  of  the  second  William  Byrd,  who  was 
one  of  the  most  striking  figures  of  colonial 
times.  Handsome,  learned,  witty,  and  capa- 
ble; with  exquisite  taste  and  elegant  culture 
fashioned  in  the  friendship  of  English  noble- 
men; with  almost  endless  acres  and  bound- 
less wealth  —  a  cavalier  of  cavaliers  was  this 
London -bred  Virginian. 

194 


RIVERWARD    FRONT    OF    \VESTOVER. 


THE   HOME   OF   A   COLONIAL   BELLE 

It  is  surprising  that  this  beau-ideal  should 
have  remained  spouseless  for  two  years  after 
coming  into  his  estate.  He  must  have  been 
considered  the  most  fascinating  matrimonial 
possibility  in  the  colony.  One  can  imagine 
how  in  a  gathering  of  Virginia  maidens  in- 
tent upon  their  tambour  embroidery,  when 
the  name  of  Westover's  young  master  came 
up,  a  circle  of  eyelashes  went  down  and  a 
circle  of  tender  hearts  went  both  up  and 
down.  The  prize  was  finally  won  by  Lucy 
Parke,  daughter  of  Colonel  Daniel  Parke 
whose  portrait  hangs  at  Brandon. 

Some  years  later,  family  litigation  called 
Colonel  Byrd  to  England,  where  his  wife  and 
little  daughter,  Evelyn,  joined  him,  and 
where  his  wife  soon  died.  The  residence  in 
London  continued  for  a  number  of  years; 
and  resulted  in  giving  the  Colonel  a  new  wife 
in  the  person  of  a  rich  young  widow,  and  in 
giving  social  finish  and  a  broken  heart  to 
Evelyn  Byrd. 

Under  the  guidance  of  her  father,  she  was 
educated  after  the  manner  of  the  fashionable 
life  of  that  day.  It  must  have  been  a  time 
quite  to  the  elegant  Colonel's  liking  when 
London  turned  in  admiration  to  his  daugh- 
ter; when,  but  sixteen  and  already  crowned 
wdth  social  successes,  the  cultured  beauty  from 

195 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

the  plantation  on  the  James  was  presented  at 
the  English  Court. 

The  stories  of  Evelyn  Byrd's  London  ex- 
periences bring  many  noted  names  into  the 
train  of  those  who  did  her  honour:  the  Lords 
Chesterfield  and  Oxford,  and  Pope  at  the 
height  of  his  glory,  and  the  cynical  Lord 
Hervey,  and  Beau  Nash,  the  autocrat  of 
Bath.  There  should  be  mentioned  too  that 
old  courtier  (whoever  he  was)  whose  admira- 
tion was  expressed  in  the  rather  mild  witti- 
cism, "  I  no  longer  wonder  that  young  men 
are  anxious  to  go  to  Virginia  to  study  orni- 
thology, since  such  beautiful  birds  are  to  be 
found  there." 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  London  gayety 
that  Evelyn  Byrd  so  literally  met  her  fate  in 
meeting  the  grandson  of  Lord  Peterborough, 
Charles  Mordaunt.  The  story  of  that  un- 
happy love  affair  —  the  devoted  pair,  the  op- 
position of  the  maiden's  father,  and  the  sep- 
aration of  the  lovers  —  has  become  an  oft- 
told  but  ever  attractive  romance. 

About  1726,  Colonel  Byrd  returned  with 
his  family  to  Virginia;  and  it  was  then,  it 
seems,  that  he  built  the  present  mansion  at 
Westover,  and  entered  upon  the  almost  sump- 
tuous life  there  that  was  to  make  the  plan- 
tation famous. 

196 


THE   HOME   OF   A   COLONIAL   BELLE 

And  Westover  was  a  worthy  setting  for 
the  worthy  Colonel.  Without  the  home,  were 
lawns  and  gardens  beautiful  with  native  and 
imported  trees,  shrubs,  and  vines;  and  within 
the  home,  spacious  rooms  with  rich  furnish- 
ings and  art  treasures  gathered  in  England 
and  on  the  Continent.  Here  too  was  one  of 
the  largest  and  most  valuable  collections  of 
books  in  the  colonies.  As  a  matter  of  course, 
this  home  was  a  distinguished  social  centre, 
drawing  to  itself  the  most  brilliant  colonial 
society. 

Colonel  Byrd  died  in  1744,  and  was  buried 
in  the  old  garden  when  it  was  in  all  its  sum- 
mer glory.  In  the  next  generation,  West- 
over  passed  to  strangers,  having  been  for  a 
century  and  a  quarter  the  home  of  the  Byrds, 
who  for  three  successive  generations  had  held 
proud  position  in  colonial  America. 

Since  then,  the  plantation  has  suffered  from 
many  changes  of  ownership,  and  from  the 
Civil  War.  The  mansion  was  held  several 
times  by  the  Federal  forces,  being  used  as 
headquarters  and  as  an  army  storehouse. 
Among  the  war  injuries  it  sustained  was  the 
destruction  of  one  wing.  The  destroyed  por- 
tion has  been  rebuilt  recently  by  the  present 
owner  of  the  estate,  Mrs.  C.  Sears  Ramsay. 
Under  her  ownership,  Westover  has  had 

197 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

added  interest,  especially  for  lovers  of  the 
colonial,  on  account  of  such  extensive  resto- 
ration as  has  made  the  old  home  one  of  the 
finest  examples  of  eighteenth  century  archi- 
tecture and  furnishing  in  America. 

Surely  while  we  have  been  telling  the  story 
of  Westover,  Gadabout  has  had  time  to  reach 
the  steamboat  pier  above  the  house;  and  we 
may  take  it  that  she  is  safely  tied  to  the 
pilings. 

Once  ashore,  Nautica  and  the  Commodore 
found  that  a  short  walk  along  the  river  bluff 
brought  them  to  an  entrance  to  the  Westover 
grounds.  Gates  of  wrought  iron,  with  per- 
haps a  martlet  from  the  Byrd  coat  of  arms 
above  them,  swung  between  tall  pillars  in  the 
wall.  From  this  entrance,  a  pathway  ap- 
proached the  homestead  diagonally,  and  af- 
forded charming  views  of  the  house  and  its 
surroundings.  To  our  right  as  we  walked, 
the  lawn,  thick  set  with  trees,  sloped  gently 
to  the  river  wall.  To  our  left,  the  views  came 
in  broken,  picturesque  bits;  a  stretch  of 
shrubbery,  a  reach  of  garden  wall,  some 
quaint  outbuildings  in  warm,  dull  red,  a 
glimpse  of  courtyard  beyond  a  corner  of  box, 
and  then  the  old  home  itself. 

The  riverward  portal  of  Westover  stands 
tall,  white,  and  finely  typical  of  its  day. 

198 


THE   HOME   OF  A   COLONIAL  BELLE 

Above  squared  stone  steps,  the  double  doors 
with  the  fanlight  above  them  are  framed  by 
two  engaged  columns  supporting  an  elaborate 
pediment  that  has  the  symbolic  pineapple  in 
the  centre. 

We  stood  before  the  fine  entrance,  fancy 
painting  the  old-time  scene  within;  that  scene 
of  eighteenth  century  elegance  which  is  the 
traditional  picture  of  colonial  Westover.  The 
door  opened,  and  we  entered  upon  perhaps 
quite  as  charming  an  eighteenth  centuiy 
scene,  which  is  the  Westover  of  to-day. 

A  panelled  hall  extended  through  the 
house,  the  double  doors  at  the  farther  end 
opening  upon  a  glass-enclosed  vestibule. 
About  midway,  and  from  beneath  a  heavy 
crystal  chandelier,  the  stairway  of  carved 
mahogany  rose  to  a  landing,  where  an  an- 
cient clock  stood  tall  and  dark,  then  turned 
and  wound  to  the  rooms  above. 

To  the  right  of  the  hall  was  the  drawing- 
room.  Passing  over  its  threshold,  we  thought 
of  those  old  colonial  days,  the  days  of  Colonel 
Byrd.  As  in  his  time,  the  light  came  sub- 
dued through  the  deep -casemen ted  windows. 
It  fell  upon  the  walls  that  he  had  so  hand- 
somely panelled,  upon  the  ceiling  that  he  had 
ornamented  in  the  delicate  putty-work  of  his 
day,  and  upon  furniture  in  carved  mahogany 

199 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

that  was  of  the  period  of  his  ownership  of 
Westover. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  room  was  the 
noted  mantelpiece  imported  from  Italy  by 
Colonel  Byrd.  It  is  an  elaborate  creation  of 
Italian  marble  with  relief  design  in  white 
upon  a  black  background.  In  front  of  it, 
on  either  hand,  stood  handsome  brass  tor- 
cheres, with  their  suggestion  of  the  mellow 
candle-light  that  was  wont  to  fall  in  this 
same  room  upon  the  courtly  Colonel,  the 
lovely  Evelyn,  and  those  brilliant  assemblages 
of  colonial  times. 

Opening  also  from  the  hall  are  the  dining- 
room  with  its  high  colonial  mantel  and  typical 
Virginia  buffet,  the  French  morning-room 
with  its  gray  green  tints  and  its  touches  of 
gilt,  and  the  library  with  its  old  chimney- 
piece,  high  black  fire-dogs,  and  quaint  fire- 
tending  irons.  All  the  rooms  have  their  colo- 
nial panelling,  deep  window-seats,  and  open 
fireplaces. 

In  the  dining-room  our  interest  was  quick- 
ened upon  our  being  told  that  the  handsome 
sideboard  had  belonged  to  the  Byrd  family. 
It  is  believed  to  be  a  Hepplewhite,  though 
similar  in  lines  to  a  rare  design  of  Sheraton's. 
Above  the  sideboard  a  circular,  concave  mir- 
ror of  elaborate  eighteenth  century  type 

200 


THE   HOME   OF  A   COLONIAL   BELLE 

accentuates  the  period  furnishing  of  the 
room. 

Up-stairs  even  more  than  below,  we  felt 
the  atmosphere  of  the  olden  time.  Perhaps 
passing  the  ancient  clock  on  the  landing 
helped  to  set  us  back  a  century  or  two.  We 
were  quite  prepared  for  the  quiet,  old-fash- 
ioned upper  hall,  with  its  richness  half  lost 
in  the  shadows  and  with  its  sleepy  night-stand 
holding  a  brass  house  lantern  and  a  prim 
array  of  candles  in  brass  candlesticks. 

In  the  bedrooms  were  four-posters  and  the 
things  of  four-poster  days.  Wing-cheek 
chairs  of  cozy  depths  told  of  old-time  fire- 
side dreams;  a  work-table  with  attenuated 
legs  called  to  mind  the  wearisome  needlework 
of  our  foremothers;  and  a  brass  warming- 
pan  carried  us  back  to  the  times  when  only 
such  devices  could  make  tolerable  the  frigid 
winter  beds  of  our  ancestors. 

One  of  the  riverward  bedrooms  is  the  ro- 
mantic centre  of  Westover.  It  now  belongs 
to  the  little  daughter  of  the  house ;  but  nearly 
two  centuries  ago  it  was  the  room  of  Evelyn 
Byrd.  Doubtless,  in  a  sense,  it  will  always 
be  hers.  The  soft  toned  panelled  walls,  the 
old  fireplace  opposite  the  door,  and  the  cozy 
little  dressing-room  looking  gardenward,  all 
seem  to  speak  of  her;  and  the  imaginative 

201 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

visitor  can  quite  discern  a  graceful  figure  in 
colonial  gown  there  in  one  of  the  deep  win- 
dow seats  that  look  out  upon  the  pleasance 
and  the  river. 

Here  the  unfortunate  colonial  beauty  lived 
and  died  with  the  grief  that  she  brought  from 
over  the  sea.  Here  she  laid  away  the  rich 
brocade,  the  old  court  gown  of  brilliant,  bitter 
memories  that  was  shown  to  us  at  Brandon. 
Through  these  windows  she  looked  with  ever 
more  wistful  eyes  out  upon  the  river,  her 
thoughts  hurrying  with  its  waters  toward  the 
ocean  and  the  lover  beyond.  And  one  day, 
it  is  said,  a  great  ship  from  London  came, 
and  it  touched  at  the  pier  before  her  windows, 
and  Charles  Mordaunt  plead  his  cause  with 
the  stern  father  once  more.  But  he  plead  in 
vain,  and  the  ship  and  the  lover  sailed  away. 
For  a  while  longer,  the  colonial  girl  waited 
and  looked  out  upon  the  river,  then  she  too 
went  away  and  the  romance  was  over. 

In  the  family  circle  at  Westover  to-day 
are  Mrs.  Ramsay,  two  sons,  and  the  little 
daughter,  Elizabeth.  Among  well-known 
families  appearing  in  Mrs.  Ramsay's  ances- 
try are  the  Sears  and  the  Gardiners  of  Massa- 
chusetts, she  being  a  descendant  of  Lyon  Gar- 
diner of  Gardiner's  Island.  She  also  claims 
kinship  with  the  Randolphs  and  the  Reeveses 

202 


THE  ROMANTIC  CENTRE  OF   \VESTOVER  ;   EVELYN   BYRD's  OLD  ROOM. 


THE   HOME   OF   A   COLONIAL   BELLE 

of  Virginia,  and  a  collateral  and  remote  con- 
nection with  the  Byrds. 

When  we  returned  to  the  steamer  pier  after 
our  visit  at  Westover,  we  found  quite  a  wind 
on  the  river  and  the  houseboat  fretfully 
bumping  the  pilings.  We  hastened  aboard, 
ran  down  stream  before  a  stiff  wind,  and 
skurried  back  into  our  harbour  in  Herring 
Creek,  where  Gadabout  settled  to  her  moor- 
ings as  contented  as  a  duck  in  the  marshes. 


203 


CHAPTER   XX 

AN    OLD    COURTYARD    AND   A    SUN  -  DIAL 

FOR  some  time  that  little  anchorage  was 
our  watery  home  acre.  We  came  to  call  it  our 

w 

sunrise  harbour.  The  opening  where  creek  and 
river  met  faced  to  the  east;  and  it  was  well 
worth  while,  if  the  morning  was  not  too  chill, 
to  have  an  eye  on  that  opening  when  the  sun 
came  up.  Breaking  through  the  mist  veil 
that  hung  over  the  James,  he  cast  a  golden 
pontoon  across  the  river,  and  then  came  over 
in  all  his  splendour.  He  made  straight  for 
the  mouth  of  our  little  creek,  flooding  wood 
and  marsh  with  misty  glow,  and  fairly  crowd- 
ing his  glory  into  the  narrow  channel. 

One  morning,  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
splendid  burst  of  dawn,  a  loud  report  rang 
out  over  the  marshes  like  the  sound  of  a  sun- 
rise gun.  "But  it  was  no  salute  to  the  orb 
of  day.  Somebody  was  poaching.  More 
shots  followed;  and  ducks,  quacking  loudly, 
fluttered  up  out  of  the  marshes.  Later,  when 
we  were  at  breakfast,  a  long  rowboat,  con- 

204 


AN   OLD   COURTYARD   AND   A   SUN-DIAL 

taining  a  man  and  a  pile  of  brush  and  doubt- 
less some  ducks  with  the  fine  flavour  of  the 
forbidden,  came  out  from  a  break  in  the 
marshes  and  went  hurriedly  up  the  stream. 

As  we  lay  in  our  harbour,  we  found  our- 
selves almost  unconsciously  listening  for  a 
sound  that  seemed  to  belong  to  those  chill, 
gray  days.  At  last,  from  somewhere  high 
up  in  the  air,  it  came  ringing  down  to  us- 
the  stirring  "  honk,  honk  "  of  the  wild  goose. 
Though  our  eyes  searched  the  heavens,  we 
could  see  nothing  of  the  living  wedge  of 
flight  up  there  that  was  cleaving  its  way 
southward  with  the  speed  of  the  wind.  But 
we  felt  the  thrill  of  that  wild,  stirring  cry 
and  were  satisfied. 

Whether  the  geese  brought  it  or  not,  bad 
weather  came  with  them.  Half  a  gale  came 
driving  the  rain  before  it  down  the  river. 
Gadabout  lay  with  her  bulkheads  closed  tight 
about  her  forward  cockpit,  and  must  have 
looked  most  dismal.  But  inside,  dry  and 
warm,  she  was  a  very  cheery  little  craft. 
We  listened  quite  contentedly  to  the  uproar, 
looking  out  from  our  windows  upon  wind- 
swept marsh  and  scudding  clouds  and  the 
fussy  little  wavelets  of  our  harbour.  It  added 
to  our  sense  of  coziness  to  look  through  a 
stern  window  out  upon  the  river  where  the 

205 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

waters  piled  and  broke  white,  in  their  midst 
an  anchored  schooner  with  swaying  masts, 
tipsy  between  wind  and  tide. 

One  day  when  the  heavens  had  gone  blue 
again,  though  tattered  clouds  were  still  racing 
across,  we  hoisted  anchor  for  another  visit  to 
Westover.  When  Gadabout  poked  her  head 
out  of  the  creek,  she  saw  a  queer  looking 
craft  busy  on  the  James.  It  was  a  govern- 
ment buoy-tender,  an  awkward  side-wheeler 
with  a  derrick  forward,  and  big  red  sticks  and 
black  ones  lying  on  deck. 

As  we  passed  the  tender,  it  was  moving  the 
red  buoy  at  the  mouth  of  our  creek  farther 
out  into  the  river.  Evidently  the  shoals  were 
encroaching  upon  the  channel.  Gadabout 
showed  little  interest  in  the  strange  boat  and 
its  doings;  and,  unconcernedly  turning  her 
back,  headed  up  the  river.  Of  course  buoys 
were  all  very  well  and  she  found  them  quite 
a  help  in  getting  about;  but  all  this  fussy 
shifting  of  them  by  a  few  feet  mattered  little 
to  her,  for  she  was  on  the  wrong  side  of  them 
most  of  the  time  anyway. 

However,  we  thought  of  how  differently 
the  watchful  buoy-tender  would  be  regarded 
by  the  heavy  laden  freighters  that  would  pass 
that  way,  their  rusty  hulls  plowing  deep. 
To  them  how  important  that  each  buoy,  each 

206 


AN   OLD   COURTYARD   AND   A   SUN-DIAL 

inanimate  flagman  of  the  river  route,  should 
stand  true  where  danger  lies  and  truly  point 
the  fairway. 

Reaching  the  little  cove  below  the  steam- 
boat pier,  Gadabout  ran  close  in  and  cast 
anchor.  She  may  well  have  been  proud  of 
the  quite  perceptible  waves  that  she  sent  roll- 
ing to  the  shore  and  of  the  quite  audible 
swish  that  they  made  on  the  beach. 

That  morning  we  saw  the  landward  front 
of  Westover,  and  straightway  forgot  all 
about  the  more  pretentious  river  front.  You 
step  from  the  house  down  into  an  old-time 
courtyard.  At  first  you  do  not  see  much  of 
the  courtyard  itself,  for  you  have  heard  of 
its  noted  entrance  gates,  perhaps  the  first 
example  of  ornamental  iron-work  in  the  colo- 
nies, and  they  stand  quite  conspicuously  in 
front  of  you.  These  gates  were  imported 
from  England  by  Colonel  William  Byrd, 
whose  initials,  W.  E.  B.,  appear  inwrought  in 
monogram. 

Two  great  birds  standing  on  stone  balls 
top  the  gate-posts.  With  a  fine  disregard  of 
both  ornithology  and  heraldry  these  birds 
have  often  been  spoken  of  as  martlets  —  the 
martlet  appearing  in  the  Byrd  coat  of  arms. 
They  are  evidently  eagles,  and  pretty  well 
developed  specimens.  American  eagles,  we 

207 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

might  call  them,  if  they  had  not  lighted  upon 
these  gate-posts  before  the  American  nation 
adopted  its  emblem  —  indeed  before  the 
American  nation  was  born.  When,  in  the 
days  of  the  Civil  War,  the  Federal  troops 
came  along,  the  soldiers  seem  to  have  stood 
strictly  upon  chronology,  and  to  have  deter- 
mined that  these  fine  prerevolutionary  birds 
were  not  entitled  to  any  immunity  as  national 
emblems  nor  even  as  kinsfolk  of  "  Old  Abe." 
And  so  their  tough  feathers  flattened  many  a 
bullet,  and  one  eagle  had  to  be  sent  to  Rich- 
mond to  get  some  toes  and  a  new  tail. 

Turning  from  the  gates,  your  eyes  follow 
down  the  courtyard  toward  the  garden. 
Walls,  outbuildings,  the  quaint  cellar-hut, 
even  the  diamond-shaped  stepping-stones 
along  the  way,  all  help  to  make  up  a  char- 
acteristic colonial  scene. 

And  for  what  striking  bits  of  colonial  life 
has  this  old  courtyard  been  the  setting!  Now 
the  exquisite  Colonel  and  his  ladies  would 
visit  the  little  capital  of  Williamsburg;  so, 
at  his  door,  stands  ready  his  "  lordly  coach 
and  six  with  liveried  outriders  in  waiting." 
Again,  the  great  gates  are  thrown  open  to 
guests  arriving  on  horseback  and  in  chariots 
and  chairs,  Pompous,  beruffled  dignitaries 
vie  with  gay  gallants  in  obeisances  and  com- 

208 


AN   OLD   COURTYARD   AND   A  SUN-DIAL 

pliments  to  the  ladies,  and  in  assisting  them 
to  alight  without  harm  to  brocades  and  laces 
and  rich  cloaks  and  wide-hooped  petticoats. 
And,  yet  again,  all  is  a-bustle  here  with  scar- 
let-coated horsemen  and  baying  hounds  and 
hurrying  black  boys  and  all  that  goes  to 

"  Proclaim  a  hunting-morning." 

When  the  ancient  courtyard  is  left  empty 
again  —  the  colonial  coaches  rolled  off  through 
the  gates;  the  colonial  huntsmen  up  and 
away  and  now  but  distant  points  of  red, 
fading  to  the  music  of  hounds  and  horns  — 
we  fall  to  wondering  about  those  early  Vir- 
ginians. 

Such,  largely,  was  their  life  —  abundant 
leisure,  elegant  display,  exuberant  merry- 
making. Just  such  a  life,  by  all  the  rules, 
as  would  produce  a  useless  race  devoid  of 
any  solidity  of  mind  or  of  character.  Just 
such  a  life  as  in  fact  produced  a  race  of  high- 
minded,  intelligent,  and  capable  men;  a  race 
that  gave  us  Washington,  Jefferson,  Henry, 
Madison,  Marshall,  Monroe,  and  the  scarcely 
lesser  names  on  down  the  long  list  of  those 
wonderful  sons  of  the  Old  Dominion. 

It  would  do  no  good  to  ask  even  that  colo- 
nial courtyard  for  an  explanation  of  all  this. 
It  simply  recalled  what  it  had  seen  and  heard. 

209 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Nor  could  we  of  to-day  understand  the  ex- 
planation were  we  to  get  it.  Unable  to  rec- 
oncile industry  and  leisure,  we  underrate  the 
real  work  that  went  with  the  idling  of  those 
early  Virginians;  and  as  to  the  gayety,  we 
long  ago  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  merry- 
making is  man-making. 

Turning  from  the  gateway,  we  went  down 
the  old  courtyard.  We  followed  a  walk  that 
led  past  the  kitchen  and  the  dairy,  skirted 
a  wall,  and  then  turned  through  a  box-shaded 
gateway  into  the  garden. 

Those  December  days  were  not  the  season 
of  gardens,  even  in  Virginia.  The  paths  led 
us  not  where  bloom  was,  but  where  bloom 
had  been.  Yet,  truly  all  times  are  garden 
times  where  warm  red  walls  shut  you  in  with 
shadowing  trees  and  shrubs,  and  where  an- 
cient box  and  ivy  hedge  the  prim  old  ways. 

How  much  our  colonial  forefathers  thought 
of  their  gardens!  and  how  much  their  Eng- 
lish forefathers  thought  of  theirs!  It  was  in 
the  blood  to  have  a  garden,  and  to  have  it 
walled,  and  to  sit  and  to  walk  and  to  talk 
in  it. 

Walking  and  talking  that  day  with  West- 
over's  mistress  in  Westover's  garden,  we  soon 
came  upon  the  tomb  of  the  noted  William 
Byrd.  Representative  as  was  this  master  of 

210 


AN   OLD    COURTYARD   AND   A   SUN-DIAL 

Westover  of  all  that  was  most  elegant  in  the 
.colonial  life  of  his  day,  he  was  much  more 
than  merely  a  man  of  the  fashionable  world. 
Ability  of  a  high  order  went  with  the  beauty 
and  the  ruffles  and  the  powder.  He  was 
statesman,  scholar,  and  author;  and  in  Eng- 
land he  had  been  made,  for  his  proficiency 
in  science,  a  fellow  of  the  Royal  Society. 

We  owe  a  great  deal  to  this  old-time  gran- 
dee for  the  glimpses  his  writings  give  us  of 
colonial  life  in  the  South  during  the  generation 
just  preceding  that  of  Washington.  Unlike 
the  Northern  colonists,  the  Southern  ones  left 
little  record  of  themselves.  So  much  the 
more  valuable,  then,  the  accounts  given  by 
this  remarkable  man  of  the  times. 

We  seemed  turning  from  an  impressive 
text  as  we  left  the  tomb;  left  the  old  grand 
seignior  in  his  little  six  feet  of  earth  —  six 
feet  out  of  175,000  acres!  But,  after  all,  it 
was  a  rueful  text;  not  one  for  morning  sun- 
shine and  blue  sky,  for  hearts  that  yet  beat 
strong,  that  yet  gloried  in  a  boundless  estate 
—  all  the  bright  world  ours.  And  the  birds 
were  holding  carnival  over  by  the  stone  basin 
under  the  ram's  head  on  the  wall;  and  the 
river  was  dancing  in  the  sunlight;  and  be- 
sides, we  had  caught  sight  of  a  sun-dial  there 
in  that  old  colonial  garden  by  the  banks  of 

211 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

the  "King's  River"!  To  be  sure  we  were 
told  that  this  was  not  an  ancient  timepiece 
of  the  sun.  We  were  much  too  late  to  see 
the  original  sun-dial  of  this  garden.  That 
old  colonial  worthy  had  found  time  too  long 
for  its  marking.  Worn  with  the  years  that 
it  had  told,  it  had  leaned  and  dozed,  and  lost 
count,  and  was  gone. 

But  it  is  not  so  much  that  a  garden  should 
have  an  old  sun-dial,  as  that  it  should  have 
a  sun-dial.  For  the  matter  of  that,  they  are 
all  old.  Venerahleness  is  their  birthright. 
Whoever  thinks  of  youth  in  a  sun-dial? 
Were  you  unboxing  one  just  from  the  maker 
would  you  not  expect  to  find  it  moss-grown? 

Indeed,  are  these  timepieces  of  sun  and 
shadow  made  at  all,  or  do  they  just  occur 
here  and  there  like  hoary  rocks  and  mossy 
springs?  And  what  a  charming  provision  of 
Nature  it  is  that  they  so  often  occur  in  gar- 
dens! Sun-dials  and  gardens!  Sunshine- 
and-shadow  time  for  plants  to  grow  by; 
sunshine-and-shadow  time  for  flowers  to  bloom 
by.  Surely  this  is  the  only  time  by  which 
a  morning-glory  should  waken,  by  which  a 
four-o'clock  should  know  its  hour,  by  which 
an  evening  primrose  should  time  its  fragrant 
bloom. 

Sun-dials  and  gardens!  Sunshine-and- 
212 


AN   OLD   COURTYARD   AND   A   SUN-DIAL 

shadow  time  for  birds  to  sing  by;  sunshine- 
and-shadow  time  for  mortals  to  laze  and 
dream  by.  Beautiful,  silent,  peaceful  time; 
where  no  clocks  strike  the  passing  hours,  no 
whistles  scream  the  round  of  toil.  What 
time  like  that  of  the  noiseless,  scarce-moving 
shadow  upon  the  dial  for  a  sleepy  old  garden 
and  a  day-dreamer  in  the  sunshine?  And 
if,  perchance,  the  garden-lover  is  not  build- 
ing castles  in  Spain,  but  has  crept  into  the 
garden  only  for  brief  rest  from  the  fray,  or 
to  give  a  weary  clock-driven  soul  an  hour 
with  its  Maker,  then  truly  again  —  sun-dials 
and  gardens!  Sun-dial  time  to  rest  the  faint- 
ing heart  by;  sun-dial  time  for  the  troubled 
soul  to  reach  up  to  God  by.  Sun-dials  and 
gardens ! 

Be  the  garden-lover  what  he  may  —  day- 
dreamer,  fainting  heart,  troubled  soul  —  how 
gently  the  shadow-finger  on  the  dial  points 
the  time  for  him!  How  softly,  almost  lin- 
geringly,  it  lets  the  moments  slip  from  gold 
to  gray,  seeking  to  give  him,  to  the  full  and 
unf retted,  his  little  hour  in  the  sunshine! 

And  yet,  the  gentlest  marker  of  time  must 
mark.  It  may  mark  very  softly  those  passing 
moments  of  life's  lessening  span;  but  when 
we  come  to  look  again,  the  shadow  has  moved 
on.  Nor  can  childish  interference  avail. 

213 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Spread  your  rebellious  hands  upon  the  dial; 
you  shall  only  see  the  shadow  come  stealing 
through  your  fingers.  Stand  defiantly  in  the 
path  of  the  sunlight,  and  blot  out  the  telltale 
dial  shadow  with  your  own;  it  but  waits  until 
you  step  aside,  then  leaps  across  the  moments 
you  have  wasted.  Not  for  you  shall  the  boon 
to  the  sick  and  penitent  King  of  Judah  be 
repeated;  not  for  you  shall  the  shadow  turn 
backward  on  the  sun-dial  of  Ahaz. 


214 


CHAPTER   XXI 

AN   UNDERGROUND   MYSTERY   AND  A  DUCKING- 
STOOL 

FOR  a  day  or  two  Gadabout  lay  out  in 
the  James  in  front  of  Westover.  One  eve- 
ning it  turned  cold  and  a  strong  wind  set  in, 
coming  straight  at  us  across  the  river.  As 
usual,  when  Gadabout  was  anchored  on  a 
stormy  night  near  a  lee  shore,  we  cast  a  lead 
out  ahead,  so  as  to  be  able  to  tell  (after  it 
should  become  too  dark  to  see  the  land) 
whether  or  not  we  were  dragging  anchor. 

That  is,  we  called  it  casting  a  lead,  though 
in  reality  the  process  consisted  in  throwing 
out  into  the  river  (as  far  ahead  of  us  as  we 
could)  a  piece  of  old  iron  with  a  string  tied 
to  it.  Then,  at  any  time,  by  gathering  up 
the  loose  end  of  the  string  that  lay  in  the 
cockpit,  one  could  detect  by  the  outgo  of  the 
line  any  tendency  on  the  part  of  Gadabout 
to  run  away  with  her  anchor.  It  was  a  very 
simple  device  and  not  exactly  original,  hav- 
ing doubtless  been  used  a  little  earlier  by 

215 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Christopher  Columbus  and  Noah  and  those 
people.  But  we  never  permitted  any  ques- 
tion of  priority  to  dampen  our  interest  in  the 
thing. 

As  the  evening  wore  on  the  storm  held 
steadily;  steadily  and  rapidly  the  barometer 
kept  counting  backward;  and  we  took  the 
river's  width  in  wind  and  sea  for  half  the 
night.  We  could  not  sleep,  and  sat  bolstered 
up  in  our  chairs.  The  Commodore  quite 
likely  did  breathe  audibly  now  and  then;  but 
Xautica  was  wide  awake,  as  shown  by  her 
announcing  with  feeling  and  frequency  that 
"  she  knew  we  were  dragging  anchor  and 
were  just  about  to  be  horribly  wrecked  upon 
rocks  or  *  stobs '  or  something  or  other." 

The  Commodore  arose  and  busied  himself 
about  cockpit  and  cabin  mysteriously.  When 
he  finished  his  labours,  the  string  from  the 
piece  of  iron  out  in  the  river  came  into  the 
cabin  through  a  hole  in  the  wall  made  for 
an  engine  bell  cord.  It  ran  along  the  ceiling 
to  the  after  end  of  the  cabin,  where  a  weight 
kept  it  taut.  A  handkerchief  that  could  be 
plainly  seen  even  in  the  dim  light,  was  fas- 
tened to  the  string  just  where  it  passed  above 
Xautica's  head.  By  this  time,  the  Commo- 
dore's mystery  was  a  mystery  no  longer;  and 
Nautica  was  laughing. 

216 


AN   UNDERGROUND    MYSTERY 

"  So  that  is  to  put  an  end  to  all  my  anxi- 
eties, is  it? " 

"  Just  so,"  said  the  Commodore.  '  When 
that  anxious  feeling  comes,  watch  the  hand- 
kerchief. If  it  is  moving  toward  the  door, 
you  may  know  that  your  fears  are  better 
grounded  than  the  anchors;  but  if  it  is  not, 
try  to  get  a  wink  of  sleep." 

And  the  wind  howled  and  the  boat  pitched; 
but  Nautica  gazed  in  such  relief  at  the  im- 
movable handkerchief  that  she  fell  asleep  in 
her  chair.  When  she  wakened  with  a  start 
and  looked  anxiously  at  the  handkerchief,  it 
was  too  late  —  the  storm  was  over. 

In  the  morning  there  was  nothing  to  show 
for  all  that  night's  commotion.  Smooth, 
peaceful,  and  lazy,  old  Powhatan  was  loiter- 
ing in  the  sunlight  to  the  sea.  But  Gadabout 
was  not  to  be  soothed  into  forgetfulness  of 
those  night  hours.  As  soon  as  she  had  her 
morning  work  done  up,  she  hoisted  anchor 
and  headed  again  for  her  quiet  harbour  in 
Herring  Creek.  After  that,  when  we  had 
a  mind  to  go  to  Westover,  we  usually  had 
no  mind  to  take  Gadabout  with  us.  Instead, 
we  were  more  likely  to  row  up  the  river  or 
to  walk  up  the  beach  at  low  tide. 

On  the  occasion  qf  our  last  visit  to  the 
manor-house,  we  determined  to  go  "  beach- 

217 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

way."  We  ran  our  rowboat  on  a  sandy  point 
jutting  into  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  and  took 
our  way  along  the  narrow  strip  of  solid  land 
that  lay  between  river  and  marsh.  White- 
limbed  sycamores  and  tangled  undergrowth 
went  along  with  us,  and  sometimes  inclined 
to  take  up  more  than  their  share  of  the  nar- 
row way.  Brilliant  berries  gleamed  on  some 
bare,  brown  bushes,  and  the  green  leaves  of 
the  smilax  pretended  that  they  grew  there 
too.  Along  the  beach,  tall  bunches  of  reeds 
stood  out  against  the  brown  of  the  river  and 
the  blue  of  the  sky  in  their  waving  slender- 
ness. 

Looking  backward  across  the  marshes,  we 
could  see  the  white  railing  on  Gadabout's 
upper  deck  and  could  catch  the  flutter  of  her 
flags  through  the  openings  in  the  trees.  As 
we  neared  Westover,  a  slope  led  to  higher 
land  and  to  a  riverward,  side  entrance  to  the 
grounds.  Passing  through  this,  a  tangle  of 
vines  swinging  with  the  great  iron  gate,  we 
followed  the  walk  toward  the  house. 

Just  before  reaching  the  ballroom  wing, 
we  paused  in  front  of  a  small  brick  outbuild- 
ing to  have  a  few  appropriate  shivers  over 
what  was  under  it.  From  reading  and  from 
our  talks  at  Westover,  we  knew  about  the 
mysterious  subterranean  chambers  down  there. 

218 


AN   UNDERGROUND   MYSTERY 

To  be  sure,  we  had  not  seen  them  yet  (one 
thing  and  another  having  got  in  the  way  of 
our  making  a  visit  to  them)  ;  but  surely  one 
need  not  always  wait  to  see;  one  can  shiver 
a  little  anyway  upon  hearsay. 

And  the  hearsay  was  like  this.  Somewhere 
underneath  that  brick  outbuilding  was  an 
opening  down  into  the  earth,  like  a  dry  well, 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  deep.  At  the 
bottom,  arched  doorways  on  opposite  sides  of 
the  shaft  opened  into  two  small  square  rooms. 
The  walls  of  the  well  and  of  the  rooms  were 
cement;  and  the  floors  were  paved  with  brick. 
A  round  stone  table  used  to  stand  in  one  of 
the  rooms.  From  this  well  once  ran  two  pas- 
sages or  tunnels,  large  enough  for  people  to 
go  through;  one  connecting  with  the  house 
by  a  curious  stairway  in  the  old  wing  that 
was  destroyed  in  the  war,  and  the  other  lead- 
ing to  the  river. 

We  stood  looking  blankly  at  the  closed 
outbuilding  trying  to  imagine  the  hidden 
rooms  and  passages  beneath  it.  Tradition 
told  us  that  they  were  for  refuge  from  the 
Indians.  That  explanation  seemed  well 
enough  at  first.  But  before  we  could  get 
into  the  spirit  of  it  enough  to  catch  even  the 
faintest  bit  of  a  warwhoop  and  to  scuttle  for 
the  subterranean  chambers,  we  made  up  our 

219 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

minds  that  that  was  not  what  the  things  were 
for  anyway.  There  had  ceased  to  be  much 
danger  from  Indians  along  that  part  of  the 
James  by  the  time  even  this  old  home  at 
Westover  was  built. 

So,  casting  about  for  a  better  explanation, 
we  hit  upon  the  idea  that  William  Byrd  had 
constructed  the  underground  rooms  in  imita- 
tion of  Pope's  famous  grotto,  which  the  Colo- 
nel and  his  daughter  Evelyn  must  have  seen 
when  entertained  by  the  poet  in  his  villa  at 
Twickenham.  But  even  after  we  had  pic- 
tured the  mysterious  chambers  all  hung  round 
with  mirrors,  just  like  Pope's,  and  candles 
everywhere,  we  could  see  that  so  tame  a  thing 
as  the  grotto  theory  would  never  do. 

There  were  so  many  nice,  awful  things  that 
such  a  place  would  be  good  for.  Spurring 
our  jaded  fancy  with  bits  from  Ali  Baba  and 
the  Forty  Thieves,  we  got  on  famously  for 
a  while  with  a  pirates'  den.  We  had  a  long, 
low,  rakish  ship  lying  in  the  river  just  off 
the  tunnel's  mouth;  black -bearded  ruffians, 
with  knives  between  their  teeth,  stealing 
ashore  and  disappearing  within  the  dark 
underground  passage;  the  great  stone  table 
down  there  heaped  with  Spanish  gold;  good 
Jamaica  rum  pouring  down  wicked  throats; 
the  dark  tunnels  ever  echoing  the  rollicking 

220 


AN   UNDERGROUND   MYSTERY 

chorus,  "  Six  men  sat  on  the  dead  man's 
chest "  —  when  suddenly  it  occurred  to  us 
that  we  were  somewhat  compromising  the  old 
colonial  grandee,  Colonel  Byrd.  With  that 
we  gave  the  matter  up.  We  quit  staring  at 
a  closed  brick  outbuilding  with  unseeable 
things  down  under  it,  and  went  on  our  way. 
And,  as  it  turned  out  that  we  never  visited 
the  underground  rooms  after  all,  this  was  as 
near  as  we  ever  came  to  solving  the  colonial 
mystery. 

That  day,  sitting  about  the  fireplace  in 
Colonel  Byrd's  library,  we  listened  to  a  pleas- 
ant chapter  in  the  story  of  an  old  manor- 
house  —  the  account  of  the  recent  restoration 
of  Westover.  As  in  most  cases  where  ex- 
tensive rehabilitation  of  colonial  homes  has 
been  attempted,  an  interesting  part  of  the 
work  was  the  opening  up  of  goodly  old-time 
fireplaces  that  the  changing  fashions  of  chan- 
ging generations  had  filled  in  with  brick  and 
mortar.  Sometimes  they  had  shrunk  to  the 
dimensions  of  a  modern  grate;  sometimes 
even  to  that  of  a  stovepipe  hole.  Indeed, 
what  chronological  mile-stones  are  the  vari- 
ous forms  of  our  American  fireplaces!  As 
the  historic  dates  grow  larger,  the  fireplaces 
grow  smaller. 

Of  course  Westover  never  had  the  hugest 
221 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

of  fireplaces.  Even  when  this  old  home  was 
built,  the  shrinkage  in  chimney-pieces  had 
been  going  on  for  some  time.  No  longer 
was  most  of  the  side  of  a  room  in  a  blaze. 
No  longer  was  the  flame  fed  by  a  backlog 
so  huge  that  "  a  chain  was  attached  to  it, 
and  it  was  dragged  in  by  a  horse." 

How  far  removed  Westover  was  from  the 
day  of  such  things,  is  shown  by  the  noted 
mantelpiece  in  the  drawing-room.  Only  with 
the  coming  of  smaller  fireplaces  came  those 
elaborate  mantelpieces.  But  the  great  fire- 
places of  our  ancestors  yielded  slowly,  inch 
by  inch,  as  it  were;  and  something  of  the 
goodly  proportions  they  yet  had  in  Colonel 
Byrd's  day,  the  hammer  and  chisel  have 
shown  at  Westover. 

If  the  exquisite  Colonel's  doubtless  exquis- 
ite ghost  haunts  this  home,  we  can  imagine 
his  pleasure  when,  one  wintry  night,  he  found 
reopened  this  fine  old  library  fireplace,  and 
sat  him  down  to  toast  his  shapely  calves  (even 
ghostly,  they  must  yet  be  shapely)  in  the 
genial  old-time  glow. 

Some  of  the  most  interesting  features  of 
the  work  of  putting  an  old  homestead  back 
into  a  period  from  which  it  has  strayed,  grow 
out  of  the  very  limitations.  At  Westover, 
while  conformity  to  colonial  times  is  carried 

222 


THE    DRAWING-ROOM    MANTELPIECE    AT    \VESTOVER. 


AN   UNDERGROUND   MYSTERY 

far,  even  to  the  exclusion  of  rocking-chairs, 
yet  there  has  been  no  shrinking  from  anach- 
ronisms that  comfort  or  convenience  demand. 

Eighteenth  century  fireplaces  may  blaze 
and  crackle,  and  quite  imagine  themselves  to 
be  still  heating  the  old  house;  but  somewhere 
down  below  is  a  twentieth  century  furnace 
that  is  quietly  doing  most  of  the  work. 

And  what  a  shock  it  must  be  to  the  colonial 
ghosts  when  they  stumble  in  the  dark  over 
great  claw  feet,  cold  even  as  their  own;  the 
feet  of  monstrous  hollow  things,  white  and 
awesome  as  themselves  —  the  things  that 
moderns  call  bathtubs! 

Over  in  the  kitchen,  unfortunately  for  the 
picturesque,  all  has  to  be  modern.  There 
the  eighteenth  century  furnishing  breaks 
down  altogether.  Not  from  the  glowing 
heart  of  the  old  chimney-place,  but  from  a 
huge,  homely  range  comes  the  gastronomic 
hospitality  of  present-day  Westover. 

No  devotion  to  the  eighteenth  century  can 
bring  the  colonial  kitchen  back  again;  send 
the  roaring  blaze  up  the  wide  chimney;  swing 
the  crane  with  the  great  kettle  into  the  glow; 
and  rebuild  the  quaint  row  of  skillet  and 
gridiron  and  broiler,  perched  on  their  little 
legs  over  the  hot  embers  of  the  old  hearth- 
stone. 

223 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Wcstover  has  an  interesting  reminder  of 
the  colonial  in  a  copy  of  an  old  survey  of  the 
plantation  that  we  saw  that  day.  Our  eyes 
quickly  caught  the  suggestive  name  given  on 
the  map  to  the  low,  sandy  point  at  the  mouth 
of  Herring  Creek,  where  we  had  left  our 
shore-hoat  to  wait  for  us.  We  had  not  known 
that  it  was  a  place  of  such  associations  as  the 
words  "  Ducking-stool  Point  "  indicated. 

Upon  first  landing  there,  we  had  been  im- 
pressed with  the  unusual  depth  of  water  just 
off  that  point ;  but  we  had  not  suspected  how, 
in  colonial  times,  many  a  too-talkative  woman 
had  also  been  impressed  with  it.  It  was  the 
law,  made  and  provided,  that  a  ducking-stool 
should  be  set  up  "  neere  the  court-house  in 
every  county."  So,  doubtless,  in  accordance 
with  that  law,  a  long  pole  used  to  reach  out 
from  our  sandy  point,  having  a  seat  on  the 
end  of  it,  right  over  the  deep  water.  And, 
also  in  accordance  with  law,  the  end  of  the 
pole  sometimes  went  down  into  the  water, 
and  a  shivering  woman  went  with  it.  But 
what  would  you,  when  "  brabbling  women 
slander  and  scandalize  their  neighbours,  for 
•which  their  poore  husbands  are  often  brought 
into  chargeable  and  vexatious  suits  and  cast 
in  great  damages  "? 

The  survey  showed,  also,  where  Westover 
224 


AN   UNDERGROUND   MYSTERY 

Church  stood  in  colonial  days.  Near  the 
river  a  little  way  above  the  house,  stood  not 
only  the  church  but  a  court-house  and  a 
brewing-house,  all  in  sociable  and  suggestive 
proximity.  We  walked  up  the  river  bank 
to  visit  the  spot. 

It  is  still  marked  by  a  few  gravestones 
that  remain  in  the  deserted  churchyard. 
Among  these  is  the  altar-tomb  of  Evelyn 
Byrd.  It  stands  with  an  iron  band  about  it, 
holding  the  aged  stones  in  place.  The  time- 
dimmed  inscription  tells  us  to  "be  reminded 
by  this  awful  Tomb  "  of  many  dismal  things 
with  which  we  refuse  to  associate  our  thoughts 
of  this  lovely  colonial  girl. 

Rather,  we  recall  the  story  of  her  intimacy 
with  Mrs.  Anne  Harrison  of  Berkeley,  and 
of  the  compact  the  two  friends  made,  that 
whichever  should  die  first  should  appear  at 
some  time  to  the  other.  The  tale  goes  on 
to  tell  that  Mrs.  Harrison,  after  the  death 
of  her  friend,  was  walking  over  to  Westover 
one  evening,  and  as  she  passed  the  church- 
yard she  saw  the  ethereal  figure  of  Evelyn 
Byrd  there  by  the  altar-tomb,  smiling  in 
happy  fulfilment  of  the  strange  tryst. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  we  were  ready 
to  take  our  way  for  the  last  time  down  the 
strip  of  sandy  beach  that  led  from  William 

225 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Byrd's  old  home  to  ours.  The  sun  slanted 
low  over  the  Powhatan;  in  its  glow  the  old 
manor-house  stood  out  in  all  its  stateliness. 
We  reflected  that  just  as  Westover  looked 
then,  it  had  looked  when  Colonel  Byrd  him- 
self used  to  step  out  from  the  marble  portal 
to  saunter  among  his  trees  and  flowers,  or 
to  take  his  faultless  self  out  upon  the  pier 
perhaps  to  watch  the  unloading  of  the  ship 
from  London  Towne.  Just  so  the  old  house 
had  looked  through  all  those  days  when  it 
was  the  scene  of  a  luxurious  colonial  life  not 
excelled  by  that  of  the  patroons  of  the  Hud- 
son. 

Looking  from  the  home  out  upon  the  river 
we  saw  a  low-laden  vessel,  all  sail  spread  to 
the  soft,  faltering  breeze,  coming  slowly  up 
stream  on  the  last  of  the  tide.  How  she 
fitted  into  the  old-time  setting!  She  was  one 
of  Colonel  Byrd's  freighting  ships  just  in 
from  overseas.  After  a  tempestuous  voyage, 
and  a  narrow  escape  from  the  Spanish  too, 
she  had  safely  entered  Chesapeake  Bay  and 
now,  the  wind  serving  but  ill,  she  was  slowly 
drifting  up  the  river. 

Soon  she  would  touch  at  the  old  colonial 
pier  swarming  with  plantation  negroes.  To 
the  rhythm  of  African  melodies  the  cargo 
would  come  out  of  the  hold  —  mahogany  fur- 

226 


AN   UNDERGROUND    MYSTERY 

niture,  a  new  statue  for  the  garden,  cases  of 
wine,  casks  of  muscovado  sugar,  puncheons 
of  rum,  plantation  machinery,  sweetmeats  and 
spices,  and  some  bewildered  Irish  cows.  Quite 
likely,  picking  their  way  daintily  in  the  midst 
of  the  exciting  scene,  would  come  the  lady 
of  the  manor  and  Mistress  Evelyn  to  make 
anxious  inquiry  for  boxes  of  London  finery. 
And  then  —  but,  no !  that  vessel  out  on  the 
James,  without  stopping  at  all,  had  sailed 
on  past  the  old  plantation  front.  Just  a 
common  fishing  schooner  of  to-day  bound  for 
Richmond!  We  turned  and  closed  behind  us 
the  ancient  iron  gate  of  Westover. 


227 


CHAPTER    XXII 

A    BAD    START    AND   A    VIEW    OF    BERKELEY 

ON  the  next  morning,  we  exercised  one 
of  the  most  enjoyable  prerogatives  of  the 
houseboater,  one  that  belongs  to  him  as  to 
but  few  other  travellers  —  that  of  changing 
his  mind  and  his  destination.  We  sat  down 
to  breakfast  with  the  intention  of  moving  on 
up  the  James  to  Eppes  Creek;  we  rose  from 
the  table  with  the  determination  to  make  a 
run  up  Powell's  Creek,  which  was  a  little 
above  us  on  the  other  side  of  the  river. 

We  always  enjoyed  these  changes  of  mind. 
They  added  so  much  the  more  to  our  sense 
of  freedom  and  independence.  There  were 
no  bits  of  cardboard  with  the  names  of  sta- 
tions printed  on  them  to  predestine  our  way; 
no  baggage  checks  to  consign  our  belongings 
to  fixed  destinations.  Even  at  the  last  mo- 
ment a  change  of  mind,  a  change  of  rudder, 
and  a  new  way  and  a  new  destination  would 
lie  before  us. 

Now,  our  thoughts  beaded  toward  Powell's 

2J58 


A   BAD   START   AND   A   VIEW   OF   BERKELEY 

Creek,  because  up  that  stream  was  another 
colonial  church,  called  Merchants'  Hope 
Church;  and  the  next  day  would  be  Sunday. 

Necessarily,  such  houseboat  voyagers  as  we, 
that  the  Sundays  usually  found  up  forgot- 
ten bits  of  tidewater,  were  a  trifle  irregular 
in  the  matter  of  church-going.  Our  house- 
boat would  have  had  to  have  a  church-boat 
for  a  consort  to  make  it  otherwise.  Yet,  as 
Sunday  after  Sunday  Gadabout  lay  in  her 
quiet  creek  harbours,  the  spirit  of  the  day 
seemed  to  find  her  there  without  the  call  of 
church  chimes. 

Though  it  was  morning  when  we  changed 
our  minds  and  determined  to  seek  a  high- 
backed  pew  in  old  Merchants'  Hope  Church, 
it  was  evening  by  the  time  we  got  under  way. 
And  in  this  case,  changing  our  minds  did 
not  work  well.  We  should  have  come  just 
as  near  getting  to  a  church  and  should  have 
saved  ourselves  trouble,  if  we  had  clung  to 
our  first  intention  and  had  spent  that  Satur- 
day in  moving  on  up  the  James. 

As  we  crossed  the  river  on  the  way  to  Pow- 
ell's Creek,  a  closer  study  of  the  sounding- 
marks  on  the  chart  showed  a  depth  of  but 
one  half  foot  at  several  places  on  the  flats 
at  the  mouth  of  the  stream.  Evidently,  get- 
ting into  that  creek  was  bound  to  be  a  prob- 

229 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

lem  in  fractions;  and  Gadabout  was  not  good 
at  fractions  and  the  day  was  waning  and 
the  tide  was  setting  out. 

It  seemed  that  the  way  to  get  the  best 
depth  of  water  would  be  to  go  to  the  lower 
side  of  the  wide,  shallow  creek-mouth,  and 
then  to  enter  the  stream  in  that  affectionate 
style  of  navigation  called  "  hugging  the 
shore." 

And  that  is  the  way  we  did  it.  But  with 
all  the  affection  that  could  be  put  into  the 
matter,  we  could  not  find  along  that  shore  any 
such  water  as  the  chart  indicated;  and  Gad- 
about was  beginning  to  need  it  sorely.  So, 
we  sent  the  sailor  out  to  see  where  it  had 
gone  to.  He  found  it  over  on  the  other  side 
of  the  creek.  Our  confidence  in  the  chart  had 
been  betrayed.  Depending  upon  it,  we  had 
been  hugging  the  wrong  shore. 

At  first,  we  thought  little  of  the  matter; 
for,  our  side  of  the  stream  having  played  us 
false,  we  felt  no  hesitancy  in  transferring  our 
affections  to  the  other  side.  But  we  found 
that  poor  Gadabout  took  things  much  more 
seriously.  She  could  not  so  lightly  "  off  with 
the  old  love  and  on  with  the  new."  For  her 
the  affair  had  already  gone  too  far;  already, 
for  the  side  she  was  now  on,  she  had  formed 
a  serious,  a  hopeless,  a  lasting  attachment. 

230 


A   BAD   START   AND   A   VIEW   OF   BERKELEY 

Our  craft  aground,  our  prospects  of  at- 
tending church  next  day  vanished.  Slowly 
the  tide  went  down;  slowly  the  moon  came 
up;  and  Nautica  made  some  candy.  By  the 
time  it  was  ready  to  be  put  out  on  the  guard 
to  cool,  even  what  little  we  had  found  of 
Powell's  Creek  had  disappeared  —  all  about 
us  was  just  moonlight  and  mud.  And  ahead 
of  us  and  behind  us  (sticking  down  a  little 
way  in  the  mud,  but  sticking  up  more  in  the 
moonlight)  were  the  two  anchors  that  we 
had  put  out  to  hold  us  in  position  when  the 
tide  should  rise  in  the  night.  They  looked 
like  great  crabs  sitting  there  and  watching 
us. 

Of  course,  sometime  in  the  darkness,  Gad- 
about rose  on  the  flood  tide,  and  perhaps  was 
even  ready  to  cross  to  the  other  side  of  the 
creek  and  proceed  to  church.  But  nobody 
else  was  ready  then;  and  so,  finding  all 
asleep,  she  slowly  settled  down  once  more, 
and  we  found  her  in  the  morning  again  hard 
aground.  The  good  minister  of  Merchants' 
Hope  Church  must  surely  have  reached  "  Sev- 
enthly, my  brethren,"  before  our  houseboat 
was  afloat. 

Now,  we  moved  her  out  in  deeper  water 
(for  it  would  not  do  that  she  should  be 
aground  next  day  when  we  ought  to  be  start- 

231 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

ing  for  Eppes  Creek)  ;  and  it  was  gratifying 
this  time  when  we  cast  our  anchors,  to  see 
them  go  plumping  out  of  sight  as  anchors 
should,  instead  of  looking  so  distressingly  un- 
nautical  with  flukes  sticking  up  in  the  air. 

But  mooring  a  boat  (securing  her  between 
two  anchors,  one  ahead  and  one  astern)  is 
rather  unsatisfactory  at  the  best.  Often  it 
is  necessary  so  to  hobble  your  floating  home 
where  there  is  danger  of  her  swinging  upon 
hidden  obstructions;  but  it  is  hard  on  the 
poetry  of  houseboating.  To  be  held  in  one 
position,  with  unvarying  scenes  in  your  win- 
dows, is  too  much  like  living  in  a  prosaic  land 
home  set  immovable  in  sameness. 

Your  gypsy  craft  should  ride  to  a  single 
anchor;  free  to  swing  to  wind  and  tide  in 
the  rhythm  of  the  river.  It  is  of  the  essence 
of  home  life  afloat  to  sit  down  to  dinner  head- 
ing up-stream,  and  to  rise  from  table  heading 
down-stream;  to  open  a  favourite  book  with 
a  bit  of  shore-view  in  the  casement  beside  you, 
and  to  close  the  chapter  with  the  open  river 
stretching  from  under  your  window,  your 
half-drawn  shade  perhaps  cutting  the  topsail 
from  a  distant  schooner. 

Monday  morning  dawned  bright  and  fair 
(as  we  afterward  learned  from  the  sailor) ; 
and  bright  and  fair  it  certainly  was  when  we 

232 


A   BAD   START   AND   A   VIEW   OF    BERKELEY 

made  its  acquaintance.  The  day  was  yet 
young  when  everything  was  ready  for  the 
trip  up  the  river,  and  the  shores  of  the  little 
creek  were  echoing  the  harsh  clicks  of  our 
labouring  windlass. 

"  She's  hove  short,  and  all  ready  to  start 
whenever  you  are,  sir,"  announced  the  sailor 
at  the  bow  door. 

Nautica  snipped  a  thread  and  laid  down  her 
sewing;  the  Commodore  tossed  his  magazine 
aside.  A  moment  more  and  we  were  off. 
When  well  out  in  the  river,  we  headed  toward 
the  left  bank,  for  we  were  to  make  a  landing 
at  the  pier  above  Westover  to  take  on  two 
boxes  of  provisions  that  had  been  left  there 
for  us  by  the  Pocahontas.  The  steamer  had 
gone;  everybody  about  the  wharf  had  gone; 
but  we  had  arranged  to  have  the  boxes  left 
out  for  us,  and  there  they  stood  on  the  end 
of  the  pier. 

Aboard  Gadabout  was  the  stir  and  bustle 
usually  incident  to  the  making  of  a  landing. 
Clear  and  sharp  rose  the  voice  of  the  Com- 
modore; now  issuing  his  orders,  now  taking 
them  back  again.  When  he  could  think  of 
nothing  more  to  say,  he  went  below  and  re- 
lieved Nautica  at  the  wheel  as  our  good  ship 
swung  beautifully  in  toward  the  wharf. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  a  houseboat 
233 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

does  not  come  up  to  piers  like  a  steamboat, 
always  finding  men  waiting  to  catch  lines  and 
to  help  in  making  landings.  Often,  as  was 
the  way  of  it  that  morning,  the  wandering 
houseboat  comes  along  to  find  only  an  empty 
pier;  and  if  she  wishes  to  establish  any  closer 
relations  with  it,  she  must  make  all  the  ad- 
vances herself. 

The  wind  may  be  blowing  strong;  the  tide 
running  strong  —  everything  strong  but  the 
qualifications  of  the  commanding  officer;  in 
which  case,  it  is  well  that  preparations  for 
the  landing  begin  early.  There  should  be  a 
coil  of  rope  made  ready  at  either  end  of  the 
boat,  and  also  a  light  line  with  a  grapnel 
attached  to  it.  What  is  a  grapnel?  How 
strange  that  question  sounds  to  us  now, 
mighty  mariners  that  we  have  become!  But 
of  course  we  should  remember  that  there  was 
a  time  when  we  did  not  know  ourselves. 
Well,  a  grapnel  is  much  like  one  of  those 
fish-hooks  that  have  five  points  all  curving 
out  in  different  directions,  only  it  usually 
weighs  several  pounds. 

The  value  of  the  grapnel  was  shown  that 
day  at  the  pier  above  Westover.  Though 
Gadabout  swung  to  the  landing  finely,  a 
strong  off-shore  wind  caught  her;  our  ropes 
fell  short ;  and  we  should  have  made  but  sorry 

234 


A  TRAPPER'S  HOME  BY  THE  RIVERBANK. 


OFTEN    .    .    .    THE    WANDERING    HOUSEBOAT    COMES    ALONG    TO 
FIND   ONLY    AN    EMPTY    PIER." 


A   BAD   START   AND   A   VIEW   OP   BERKELEY 

work  of  it  if  a  grapnel  had  not  shot  out  into 
the  air  and  saved  the  day.  As  it  fell  upon 
the  wharf,  the  line  attached  to  it  was  hauled 
in  hand  over  hand;  and  though  the  grapnel 
started  to  come  along  with  it,  sliding  and  hop- 
ping over  the  pier,  soon  one  of  its  points  found 
a  crack  or  a  nail  or  a  knot-hole  to  get  hold  of ; 
and  the  houseboat  was  readily  drawn  up  and 
made  fast  to  the  pilings. 

The  boxes  aboard,  our  lines  were  cast  off 
and  Gadabout  moved  on  up  the  James. 

Soon  we  were  approaching  one  of  the  most 
historic  points  on  the  river.  We  could  tell 
that  by  a  deserted  old  manor-house  occupying 
a  fine,  neglected  site  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
stream. 

While  the  main  structure  still  stood  firm, 
and  would  for  generations  to  come  as  it  had 
for  generations  gone,  yet  the  verandas  about 
it  had  been  partially  burned  and  had  col- 
lapsed, and  the  place  looked  dilapidated  and 
forlorn.  In  front,  the  spacious  grounds,  once 
terraced  gardens,  stretched  wild  and  over- 
grown down  to  the  river,  where  the  strag- 
gling ruins  of  a  pier  completed  the  picture 
of  desolation. 

But,  even  neglected  and  abandoned,  this 
sturdy  colonial  home,  nearly  two  centuries  old, 
still  wore  a  noble  air  of  family  pride;  still 

235 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

looked  bravely  out  upon  the  river.  And  why 
should  it  not?  What  house  but  old  Berkeley 
is  the  ancestral  home  of  a  signer  of  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence  and  of  two  Presi- 
dents of  the  United  States? 

This  plantation  became  the  colonial  seat  of 
the  elder  branch  of  the  Harrison  family  about 
the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century.  It 
passed  to  strangers  less  than  half  a  century 
ago. 

From  its  founding,  Berkeley  was  the  home 
of  distinguished  men.  Here  lived  Benjamin 
Harrison,  attorney  general  and  treasurer  of 
the  colony;  and  his  son,  Major  Benjamin 
Harrison,  member  of  the  House  of  Burgesses ; 
and  his  son,  Benjamin  Harrison,  member  of 
the  Continental  Congress  and  signer  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence;  and  his  son, 
William  Henry  Harrison,  famous  general 
and  the  ninth  President  of  our  country ;  whose 
grandson,  Benjamin  Harrison,  became  our 
twenty-third  President  —  a  striking  showing 
of  family  distinction,  and  including  the  only 
instance,  except  that  of  the  Adamses,  of  two 
members  of  the  same  family  occupying  the 
presidential  chair. 

Very  different  from  the  Berkeley  that  we 
saw,  was  that  fine  old  plantation  of  colonial 
times.  Imagine  it,  perhaps  upon  a  summer's 

236 


A   BAD   START   AND   A   VIEW   OF   BERKELEY 

day  in  that  memorable  year  of  1776.  There 
are  the  great  fields  of  tobacco  and  grain,  the 
terraced  gardens  gay  with  flowers,  the  boats 
at  the  landing,  and  the  manor-house  standing 
proudly,  "  an  elegant  seat  of  hospitality." 

The  master  of  Berkeley,  that  tall,  dignified 
colonial,  Colonel  Benjamin  Harrison,  is  not 
at  home.  He  is  at  Philadelphia  attending 
the  Continental  Congress.  Perhaps  even  now 
he  is  affixing  his  signature,  with  its  queer  final 
flourish,  to  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 
In  the  meantime,  in  front  of  the  old  home, 
a  pretty  woman  in  quaint  taffeta  "  Watteau  " 
and  hooped  petticoat  and  dainty  high-heeled 
slippers  is  playing  with  a  little  boy,  among 
the  sweet  old  shrubs  and  the  English  roses 
upon  the  terraces. 

That  little  boy  is  to  bring  added  honour 
to  old  Berkeley;  and  one  day,  as  General 
William  Henry  Harrison,  president-elect  of 
the  United  States,  his  love  for  this  mother 
shall  bring  him  back  to  this  home  of .  his 
boyhood  to  write,  amidst  the  tender  asso- 
ciations of  "  her  old  room,"  his  inaugural  ad- 
dress. 

After  passing  Berkeley,  we  left  the  buoyed 
course  and  ran  the  rest  of  the  way  to  Eppes 
Creek  in  a  narrow  side  channel  that  threads 
among  the  shallows  close  along  shore.  It  is 

237 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

what  the  river-men  call  a  "  slue  channel " ; 
and  we  had  to  take  frequent  soundings  to 
follow  it.  Looking  back  at  dejected  old 
Berkeley,  we  were  glad  to  know  that  a  new 
owner  of  the  place  was  about  to  restore  it. 

Gadabout  soon  approached  an  opening  in 
the  river  bank  that  we  knew  was  the  wide 
mouth  of  Eppes  Creek.  We  were  going  to 
turn  into  this  stream,  not  merely  for  the 
stream  itself,  but  for  a  convenient  anchorage 
from  which  to  reach  the  last  of  the  noted 
river  homes  that  we  should  visit  —  Shirley, 
the  colonial  seat  of  the  Carters.  Our  chart 
showed  the  mansion  as  standing  just  around 
the  next  bend  of  the  James.  But  we  were 
not  going  around  that  bend,  because  the  chart 
showed  also  this  little  creek  cutting  across  the 
point  of  land  lying  in  the  elbow  of  the  river 
and  apparently  affording  an  inside  route  to 
Shirley.  We  should  soon  learn  whether  or 
not  Gadabout  could  navigate  it  and  how  near 
it  would  take  her  to  the  old  home. 

As  we  moved  slowly  into  the  creek  it  was 
between  banks  in  strange  and  attractive  con- 
trast. The  starboard  side  (that  from  which 
we  hoped  to  find  a  way  to  Shirley)  was  high 
and  covered  with  trees  of  many  kinds.  The 
bank  to  port  was  low  and  covered  with  a 
marsh  forest  of  cypresses.  It  was  a  dark  and 

238 


A   BAD   START   AND   A   VIEW   OF   BERKELEY 

gloomy  forest,  but  the  spell  of  its  sombre 
depths  drew  our  eyes  quite  as  often  as  the 
cheerfuller  charm  of  the  woodland  on  the 
other  side;  and  so  was  equally  responsible 
for  the  zigzag  course  that  Gadabout  was 
taking. 

But  it  was  the  high  bank  that,  after  a  while, 
was  responsible  for  Gadabout's  ceasing  to  take 
any  course  at  all.  We  came  about  a  bend  and 
saw,  just  ahead,  a  little  cove.  There  were 
trees  crowding  close,  rich  pines  and  cedars 
and  bright-beaded  holly.  One  tree  leaned  far 
out  over  the  water,  and  beneath  it  two  row- 
boats  were  drawn  up  to  the  bank.  We  thought 
it  must  surely  be  the  landing-place  for  Shir- 
ley. Gadabout  sidled  to  starboard,  and  grap- 
nels were  thrown  up  into  the  trees  to  hold 
her  alongshore. 

Stepping  out  on  the  bank  we  went  up  the 
hill  through  the  woods.  On  the  way  we 
turned  and  glanced  down  upon  the  houseboat. 
She  looked  pretty  enough,  little  white  and 
yellow  cottage,  snuggling  close  to  the  bank 
with  a  holly  tree  at  her  bow  and  her  flags 
stirring  gently  in  the  warm  sunny  air. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill,  we  came  out  upon 
the  edge  of  a  cornfield.  Everything  was  corn- 
field as  far  as  we  could  see.  No  house,  no 
road  in  sight.  Back  aboard  Gadabout,  we 

239 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

got  under  way  again.  But  the  creek  soon 
lost  even  its  one  solid  bank  and,  finding  our- 
selves running  between  two  b'nes  of  marsh 
woods,  we  turned  about  and  headed  back  for 
the  place  where  we  had  stopped,  "  Leaning 
Tree  Landing,"  as  we  called  it. 

We  had  gone  but  a  little  way  when  our 
rudder-cable  snapped,  the  steering-wheel 
turned  useless,  and  Gadabout  headed  for  the 
marsh  woods.  She  minded  none  of  our  make- 
shift devices  to  shape  her  course;  and  we 
were  forced  to  stop  the  engine  and  resort  to 
a  more  primitive  motive  power. 

The  sailor  dropped  an  end  of  a  long  pole 
into  the  water  at  the  bow  of  the  houseboat 
and,  bending  heavily  upon  the  other  end, 
slowly  pushed  her  forward  as  he  walked  aft 
along  the  guard.  Steadily  back  and  forth 
he  paced  the  rail ;  steadily,  silently,  we  floated 
down  the  stream. 

And  the  silence  of  our  going  took  hold  of 
us,  as  we  sat  lazily  in  the  bow.  How  in  keep- 
ing it  all  seemed  with  the  quiet  of  the  day, 
the  calm  of  the  stream,  and  the  stillness  of 
the  woods!  And  how  out  of  keeping  now 
seemed  Gadabout's  noisy  entrance  into  that 
tranquil  scene! 

'  I  feel  quite  apologetic,"  said  Nautica. 
'  Look  at  these  great  solemn  trees,  just  like 
240 


A   BAD   START  AND   A   VIEW   OF   BERKELEY 

an  assemblage  of  forest  philosophers  in  the 
hush  of  silent  deliberation." 

'  We  must  have  stirred  them  up  a  bit," 
replied  the  Commodore,  "  with  our  puffing 
and  ringing.  But  I  don't  think  they  are 
deliberating.  I  believe  they  are  asleep.  It 
seems  more  like  the  hush  of  poppy-land  in 
here  to  me." 

'  Yes,  that  is  just  it."  And  the  answer 
really  came  quite  dreamily.  '  This  is  the 
hush  of  poppy-land,  and  we  are  drifting  on 
the  quiet  brown  waterway  that  leads  through 
the  sleepy,  endless  afternoon." 

And  the  notion  pleased,  and  so  did  the 
languor  and  the  heavy  content.  Slowly  and 
steadily  the  sailor  and  the  long  pole  went  up 
and  down  the  guard;  slowly  and  steadily  the 
houseboat  moved  down  the  stream. 

Now  we  were  skirting  the  bolder  bank 
where  the  pines  bent  heavy  heads  over  the 
water,  the  holly  crowded  close  to  the  shore, 
and  pale  tinted  reeds  made  border  at  the 
water's  edge.  Now  in  rounding  a  curve, 
we  passed  close  to  the  cypress  wood  fringed 
with  bush  and  sedge.  Delicate  brown  fes- 
toons of  vines  hung  from  the  branches;  and, 
high  out  of  reach,  mats  of  mistletoe  clung. 
It  seemed  one  with  our  mood  and  our  fancy 
when  two  round  yellow  eyes  stared  out  of 

241 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

the  shadows,  two  wide  lazy  wings  were 
spread,  and  the  bird  of  daylight  slumber  took 
soft,  noiseless  flight.  We  were  just  getting 
fully  in  the  humour  of  our  new  way  of  travel, 
drifting  on  in  the  world  of  laze-and-dream, 
when  the  whole  thing  came  to  an  end.  A 
familiar  voice  from  the  world  of  up-and-do 
was  in  our  ears,  and  there  was  Leaning  Tree 
Landing  just  ahead. 

We  anchored  out  in  the  channel  until  low 
tide;  then,  after  sounding  about  the  landing 
and  finding  a  good  depth  of  water  and  no 
obstructions,  we  drew  Gadabout  in,  bow  to 
the  bank,  and  made  fast.  We  felt  almost 
as  though  she  were  a  real,  true  cottage,  with 
that  solid  land  at  her  door  and  her  roof 
among  the  branches. 

When  we  looked  from  Gadabout's  win- 
dows next  morning,  a  dense  fog  had  blotted 
out  all  of  our  creek  country  except  that  which 
was  close  in  about  us.  But  what  was  left 
was  so  beautiful  as  to  more  than  make  up 
for  the  loss.  Nature,  like  most  other  women, 
looks  particularly  well  through  a  filmy  veil. 
We  feared  that  the  mist  would  soon  clear 
away,  but  it  did  not  and  we  sat  down  to 
breakfast  with  our  houseboat  floating  in  one 
of  the  smallest  and  fairest  worlds  that  had 
ever  harboured  her.  A  beautiful  white-walled 

242 


A    BAD   START   AND   A   VIEW   OF   BERKELEY 

world  with  some  shadowy  bits  of  land  here 
and  there,  a  piece  of  a  misty  stream  that 
began  and  ended  in  the  clouds,  and  every- 
thing most  charmingly  out  of  perspective  and 
unreal.  Some  ghostly  trees  were  near  us, 
delicate  veils  of  mist  clinging  about  their 
trunks  and  floating  up  among  the  bare 
branches.  Nearer  yet,  a  blur  of  reeds  marked 
the  shore-line.  From  somewhere  out  along 
the  river,  probably  from  the  lighthouse  at 
Jordan's  Point,  came  the  tolling  of  a  fog- 
bell. 

As  we  watched  the  scene,  a  faint  glow  fil- 
tered in  through  the  whiteness,  and  made  it 
all  seem  a  fairy -land.  Indeed,  was  it  not? 
And  were  not  the  little  swaying  mist-wreaths 
that  wavered  in  at  our  windows  some  dainty 
elves  timidly  come  to  give  us  greeting?  All 
day  the  fog  held,  and  the  sad  tolling  of  the 
bell  went  on.  Now  and  then,  the  calls  of 
the  river  craft  would  come  to  our  ears. 

Toward  evening  the  fog  thinned  and  let 
the  moonlight  in.  Then  we  were  quite  sure 
that  Gadabout  had  indeed  come  to  Fairy- 
land. Now,  if  only  there  were  a  way  leading 
from  Fairy-land  to  Shirley!  And  it  turned 
out  that  there  was. 


243 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE   RIGHT    WAY   TO   GO   TO    SHIRLEY 

EVERYBODY  goes  to  Shirley  the  wrong  way. 
We  found  that  out  by  ourselves  happening 
to  go  the  right  way. 

When  you  are  sailing  up  the  James  in 
your  houseboat  (You  haven't  one?  Well,  a 
make-believe  one  will  do  just  as  well,  and 
in  some  ways  better) ,  do  not  pass  Eppes 
Creek,  as  everybody  does,  and  go  to  the  Shir- 
ley pier;  but,  instead,  enter  the  creek  and  tie 
up  at  Leaning  Tree  Landing  as  we  did. 

Then,  instead  of  taking  that  trail  up  the 
hill  that  leads  only  into  a  cornfield,  look  for 
a  path  leading  to  the  left  through  the  woods. 
It  is  not  much  of  a  path;  and  unless  you 
love  Nature  in  even  her  capricious  moods, 
when  she  now  and  then  trips  the  foot  of  the 
unwary  and  mayhap  even  scratches,  it  is  too 
bad  after  all  that  you  came  this  way.  To 
love  of  Nature  should  be  added  a  certain 
measure  of  agility,  so  that  you  will  be  all 
right  when  you  come  to  the  fence.  Fortu- 

244 


nately,  you  can  let  down  the  upper  rails  — 
being  careful  to  put  them  back  again  when 
you  are  safe  on  the  other  side. 

Beyond  the  fence,  a  great  pasture-field 
stretches  away  endlessly.  But  then  every- 
thing is  on  a  large  scale  at  Shirley.  Ample- 
ness  is  the  keynote;  it  pervades  everything. 
Before  you  have  half  crossed  the  field,  you 
will  come  upon  a  road  that  will  lead  you  to 
a  little  eminence  near  the  quarters. 

No,  it  is  not  a  village  that  you  now  see 
peeping  out  through  the  grove  over  there  by 
the  river;  it  is  the  group  of  buildings  con- 
stituting the  homestead  of  Shirley.  In  the 
bright  sunlight,  you  can  pick  out  bits  of  the 
mansion  through  the  trees,  of  the  dairy,  of 
the  kitchen,  and  of  the  smaller  buildings; 
while  farther  out  stand  the  roomy  barns  and 
the  quaint  turreted  dove-cote.  All  the  build- 
ings are  of  brick  and  show  a  warm,  dull  red. 

Time  has  left  few  such  scenes  as  this  — 
the  completely  equipped  home-acre  of  a  great 
seventeenth  century  American  plantation. 
The  scene  is  not  exactly  a  typical  one;  for 
few  of  such  early  colonial  estates,  and  indeed 
not  many  of  the  later  ones,  had  homesteads 
as  complete,  as  substantially  built,  and  on  as 
large  a  scale  as  this  of  Shirley. 

Now,  as  you  can  need  no  further  guidance, 
245 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

we  are  going  off  some  two  or  three  hundred 
years  into  the  past,  to  see  if  we  can  get  hold 
of  the  other  end  of  the  story  of  this  planta- 
tion. 

Perhaps  the  start  was  "  about  Christmas 
time  "  in  the  year  1611,  when  Sir  Thomas 
Dale,  High  Marshal  of  the  Colony  of  Vir- 
ginia, sailed  up  the  river  from  James  Towne; 
killed  or  drove  away  all  the  Indians  here- 
about; and  then,  thinking  it  ill  that  so  much 
goodly  land  should  be  lying  unoccupied,  took 
possession  of  a  large  tract  of  it  for  the  colony. 
But  the  part  that  came  to  be  called  Shirley 
is  soon  lost  sight  of  in  the  fogs  of  tradition. 
Later,  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  it  in  the  pos- 
session of  Lord  Delaware.  But  it  is  not  until 
the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  that 
we  get  a  firm  hold  of  this  elusive  colonial  seat 
and  of  its  colonial  owners. 

At  that  time,  in  the  colony  of  Virginia,  two 
of  the  proud  families  on  two  of  the  proud 
rivers  were  the  Hills,  who  had  recently  ac- 
quired the  plantation  of  Shirley  on  the  James, 
and  the  Carters,  who  were  establishing  their 
seat  at  Corotoman  on  the  Rappahannock. 
In  the  story  of  these  two  houses  is  most  of 
the  story  of  Shirley. 

The  Hills  became  one  of  the  leading  fam- 
ilies in  the  colony.  It  was  Edward  Hill,  sec- 

246 


THE   RIGHT   WAY  TO   GO   TO   SHIRLEY 

ond  of  the  name,  who  built  the  present  man- 
sion. He  was  a  member  of  the  King's  Coun- 
cil; and  his  position  is  indicated,  and  his 
fortune  as  well,  by  the  building  in  those  early 
times  of  such  a  home.  Antedating  almost 
all  of  the  great  colonial  homes,  it  must  long 
have  stood  a  unique  mark  of  famity  distinc- 
tion. The  exact  date  of  the  building  of  the 
manor-house  is  not  known,  but  doubtless  it 
was  not  far  from  the  middle  of  the  seven- 
teenth century. 

•/ 

In  the  meantime,  the  Carters  had  become 
notable.  This  family  reached  its  greatest 
prominence  in  the  days  of  Robert  Carter,  who 
was  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  influential 
men  in  the  colony.  In  person  he  was  hand- 
some and  imposing;  in  worldly  possessions 
he  stood  almost  unequalled;  and  in  offices 
and  honours  he  had  about  everything  that  the 
colony  could  give.  His  estate  included  more 
than  three  hundred  thousand  acres  of  land 
and  about  one  thousand  slaves.  Either  be- 
cause of  his  imposing  person  or  of  his  power 
or  of  his  wealth,  or  perhaps  because  of  all 
three,  he  was  called  "  King "  Carter.  He 
does  seem  to  have  been  quite  a  sovereign,  and 
to  have  known  considerable  of  the  pompous 
ceremony  that  "  doth  hedge  a  king." 

It  was  in  the  fourth  generation  of  the 
247 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

houses  of  Shirley  and  of  Corotoman,  and  in 
the  year  1723,  that  the  families  were  united 
by  the  marriage  of  John,  son  of  '  King " 
Carter,  and  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  the  third 
Edward  Hill.  John  Carter  was  a  prominent 
man  and  the  secretary  of  the  colony;  Eliza- 
beth Hill  was  a  beauty  and  the  heiress  of 
Shirley.  In  the  descendants  of  this  union  the 
old  plantation  has  remained  to  this  day. 

The  first  time  that  we  went  from  our  creek 
harbour  up  to  Shirley  was  a  strange  time 
perhaps  for  people  to  be  abroad  in  woods  and 
field-roads.  The  day  was  one  of  struggle 
between  fog  and  sun,  neither  being  able  to 
get  his  own  way,  but  together  making  a  won- 
derful world  of  it.  We  walked  in  a  luminous 
mist;  the  road  very  plain  beneath  our  feet, 
but  leading  always  into  nothingness,  and 
reaching  behind  us  such  a  little  way  as  to 
barely  include  the  tall,  following,  hazy  figure 
that  was  Henry. 

There  was  little  for  us  to  see,  but  that  little 
was  well  worth  seeing ;  only  a  tree  or  a  clump 
of  bushes  or  a  hedge-row  here  and  there,  but 
all  dimmed  into  new  forms  and  graces  for 
that  day  and  for  us. 

As  we  neared  a  ridge  of  meadowland,  a 
pastoral  for  a  Schenck  took  shape  in  the  fog 
cloud  before  us.  Scattered  groups  of  sheep 

248 


THE   RIGHT   WAY   TO   GO   TO   SHIRLEY 

appeared  close  at  hand,  and,  faintly  visible 
beyond  them,  a  denser  mass  of  moving  white. 
No  tree  nor  landmark  was  to  be  seen;  just 
set  into  the  soft  whiteness,  showing  mistily, 
was  the  snowy  flock  itself.  Sheep  grazed  in 
groups,  the  tan  shaded  slope  in  faint  colour- 
ing beneath  them.  Here  and  there  a  mother 
turned  her  head  to  call  back  anxiously  for 
the  bleating  lambkin  lost  behind  the  white 
curtain;  and,  dim  and  grotesque,  the  awk- 
ward strayling  would  come  gamboling  into 
sight.  Near  by  on  a  little  hillock,  a  single 
sheep  stood  with  its  head  thrown  up,  a  ghostly 
lookout.  The  hidden  sun  made  the  haze 
faintly  luminous  about  this  wandering  flock 
of  cloudland.  We  were  not  the  first  to  move 
and  to  break  the  picture. 

As  we  gained  higher  ground,  a  breeze  was 
stirring  and  the  fog  wras  beginning  to  lift. 
When  we  reached  the  edge  of  the  Shirley 
homestead  and  passed  the  turreted  dove-cote, 
the  near-by  objects  had  grown  quite  distinct. 
But  out  on  the  river  the  fog  yet  lay  dense; 
and  two  boats  somewhere  in  the  impenetrable 
whiteness  were  calling  warningly  to  each 
other. 

Now  we  went  on  toward  the  manor-house 
that  loomed  against  a  soft  background  of 
river  fog. 

349 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

The  mansion  is  wholly  unlike  either  'Bran- 
don or  Westover,  being  a  massive  square 
building  without  wings.  It  is  two  and  a  half 
stories  high,  with  a  roof  of  modified  mansard 
style  pierced  with  many  dormer  windows. 
It  has  both  a  landward  and  a  riverward  front, 
and  both  alike.  Each  front  has  a  large  porch 
of  two  stories  in  Georgian  design  with  Doric 
columns.  The  walls  of  the  house  are  laid  in 
Flemish  bond,  black  glazed  bricks  alternating 
with  the  dull  red  ones.  While  both  the  roof 
and  the  porches  are  departures  from  the  orig- 
inal lines  of  the  house,  yet  they  are  depar- 
tures that  have  themselves  attained  a  digni- 
fied age  of  about  a  century  and  a  quarter. 

Always,  in  the  consideration  of  colonial 
homes,  Shirley  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  finest 
examples.  This  means  much  more  than  at 
first  appears.  For  the  mansions  with  which 
Shirley  is  usually  compared,  were  built  from 
half  a  century  to  a  century  later. 

Continuing  along  the  road  as  we  studied 
the  home,  we  were  led  around  to  the  land- 
ward front  and  into  the  midst  of  the  ancient 
messuage. 

We  stood  in  a  great  open  quadrangle,  hav- 
ing the  house  at  one  end,  the  distant  barns 
at  the  other;  on  one  side  the  kitchen,  a  large 
two-story  building,  and  on  the  other  side  a 

250 


Rivcrward  Front  of  Shirley 


THE   RIGHT   WAY   TO    GO   TO   SHIRLEY 

similar  building  used  for  storage  and  for  in- 
door plantation  work.  A  high  box  hedge  ran 
across  from  one  of  these  side  buildings  to  the 
other,  dividing  the  long  quadrangle  into 
halves,  one  part  adjacent  to  the  house  and 
the  other  to  the  barns. 

The  village  effect  produced  by  the  grouped 
buildings  must  have  been  even  more  striking 
in  colonial  times;  for  then  the  manor-house 
was  flanked  by  two  more  large  brick  build- 
ings, forming  what  might  be  called  detached 
wings.  One  of  these  was  still  standing  up 
to  the  time  of  the  Civil  War. 

The  visitor  is  conscious  of  two  dominant 
impressions,  as  he  stands  thus  in  the  midst 
of  this  seventeenth  century  homestead.  The 
massive  solidity  of  the  place  takes  hold  of 
one  first;  but,  strangely  enough,  the  strong- 
est impression  is  that  of  an  all-pervading  air 
of  youthfulness.  Doubtless  the  oldest  home- 
stead on  the  river,  and  one  of  the  oldest  in 
the  country,  it  utterly  refuses  to  look  its  age. 
Perhaps  the  solid,  square  compactness  of  the 
buildings  has  much  to  do  with  this.  They 
appear  as  though  built  to  defy  time.  Even 
the  shadow  of  the  venerable  trees  and  the 
ancient  ivy's  telltale  embrace  seem  powerless 
to  break  the  spell  of  perennial  youth. 

In  the  home,  we  met  Mrs.  Bransford, 
251 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

widow  of  Mr.  II.  W.  Bransford,  Commander 
and  Mrs.  James  H.  Oliver,  U.  S.  N.,  and 
Miss  Susy  Carter.  Mrs.  Bransford  and  Mrs. 
Oliver  are  the  daughters  of  the  late  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Robert  Randolph  Carter,  and  are  the 
present  owners  of  the  plantation,  Mrs.  Brans- 
ford  making  her  home  there.  Commander 
Oliver  represents  the  third  consecutive  gen- 
eration of  naval  officers  in  the  Shirley  fam- 

iiy. 

Upon  entering  the  house  in  the  usual  way, 
from  the  landward  side,  the  visitor  finds  him- 
self in  a  large  square  hall  occupying  one  cor- 
ner of  the  building.  This  room  discloses  at 
a  glance  the  type  and  the  genius  of  Shirley. 
It  begins  at  once  to  tell  you  all  about  itself; 
and  when  you  know  this  old  hall,  you  have 
the  key  to  the  mansion  and  to  its  story.  It 
is  truly  a  colonial  "  great  hall."  It  tells  you 
that  by  its  goodly  old-time  ampleness,  its 
high  panelled  walls  with  their  dimming  por- 
traits, its  great  chimneypiece  flanked  by  tall 
cupboards,  and  its  massive  overshadowing 
stairway. 

The  chief  architectural  feature  of  the  room 
is  this  stairway.  Starting  in  one  corner,  it 
rises  along  the  panelled  wall  until  half  way 
to  the  ceiling,  then  turns  sharply  out  into  the 
room  for  the  remainder  of  its  ascent  to  the 

252 


THE   RIGHT   WAY  TO   GO  TO   SHIRLEY 

second  floor,  thus  exposing  overhead  a  hand- 
some soffit.  The  effect,  in  connection  with 
the  great  panelled  well  of  the  staircase,  is 
one  of  rich  and  goodly  ancientness. 

Indeed,  though  you  may  enter  Shirley  feel- 
ing that  the  house,  like  some  long-lingering 
colonial  belle,  is  perhaps  not  quite  frank  with 
you  about  its  age,  you  will  not  find  the  hall 
taking  part  in  any  such  misrepresentation. 
Despite  some  modern  marks  and  even  the 
fact  that  the  fireplace  has  been  closed,  this 
room  says  in  every  line  that  it  is  very  old. 

It  stands  true  to  the  memory  of  its  seven- 
teenth-century builder  who  had  known  and 
loved  the  "  great  halls "  of  "  Merrie  Eng- 
land." It  tells  of  the  time  when  the  life  of 
a  household  centred  in  the  spacious  hall;  when 
there  the  great  fire  burned  and  the  family 
gathered  round  —  of  the  time  when  halls 
were  the  hearts,  not  the  mere  portals,  of 
homes. 

And  so  in  this  room,  as  in  few  others  in 
our  country,  does  the  visitor  find  the  setting 
and  the  atmosphere  of  manor-house  life  in 
early  colonial  days.  He  can  well  fancy  this 
"  great  hall "  of  Shirley  in  the  ruddy  light 
of  flaming  logs  that  burned  in  the  wide  fire- 
place two  centuries  and  a  half  ago.  Dusky 
in  far  corners  or  sharply  drawn  near  the  fire- 

253 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

light,  stood,  in  those  days,  chests  and  tables 
and  forms  and  doubtless  a  bed  too  with  its 
valance  and  curtains.  In  a  medley  typical 
of  the  times  in  even  the  great  homes,  were  sad- 
dles, bridles,  and  embroidery  frames,  swords, 
guns,  flute,  and  hand-lyre. 

Here,  in  a  picturesque  and  almost  medi- 
aeval confusion,  the  family  mostly  gathered, 
while  favourite  hounds  stretched  and  blinked 
in  the  chimney-place  beside  the  black  boy  who 
drowsily  tended  the  fire. 

Here,  the  long,  narrow  "  tabull-bord  "  was 
spread  with  its  snowy  cloth,  taken  from  the 
heavy  chest  of  linen  in  the  corner,  of  which 
my  lady  of  the  manor  was  prodigiously 
proud.  Upon  the  cloth  were  placed  soft- 
lustred  pewter  and,  probably  almost  from 
the  first,  some  pieces  of  silver  too.  The  salt 
was  "  sett  in  the  myddys  of  the  tabull,"  likely 
in  a  fine  silver  dish  worthy  its  important  func- 
tion in  determining  the  seating  about  the 
"  bord."  As  family  and  guests  gathered 
round,  the  host  and  hostess  took  places  side 
by  side  at  one  end;  near  them  the  more  im- 
portant guests  were  given  seats  "  above  the 
salt,"  while  lesser  folk  and  children  sat  "  be- 
low the  salt." 

Then,  from  the  distant  kitchen  in  the  quad- 
rangle, came  slaves  or  indentured  servants 

254 


THE   RIGHT   WAY   TO    GO   TO   SHIRLEY 

bearing  the  steaming  food  in  great  chargers 
and  chafing-dishes.  Doubtless,  in  those  ear- 
liest days,  the  food  was  eaten  from  wooden 
trenchers,  not  plates;  while  from  lip  to  lip 
the  communal  bowl  went  round.  Knives  and 
spoons  were  plentiful,  but  even  in  such  a 
home  as  Shirley  forks  were  still  a  rarity; 
and  the  profusion  of  napkins  was  well  when 
helpful  fingers  gave  service  to  healthy  appe- 
tites. 

But  that  was  the  hall  life  of  very  early 
days.  Gradually,  in  the  colonies  as  in  Eng- 
land, the  evolution  of  refinement  specialized 
the  home;  developed  drawing-rooms,  dining- 
rooms,  libraries;  and  so  took  away  from  the 
"  great  halls  "  almost  all  of  this  intimate  life 
of  the  household. 

There  is  something  pathetic  in  this  deser- 
tion of  the  ancient,  central  hearthstone.  We 
thought  of  Shirley's  old  hall  growing  sadly 
quiet  and  chill  as  it  lost  the  merry  chatter 
about  the  "  tabull-bord " ;  as  saddles  and 
bridles  jingled  there  for  the  last  time  on  their 
way  to  some  far  outbuilding;  as  the  gentle- 
women carried  their  needlework  away,  and 
the  little  maids  followed  with  their  samplers. 
At  last,  all  the  old  life  was  gone.  Even  the 
master  himself  came  no  longer  to  mull  his 
wine  by  the  andirons;  and  the  very  dogs 

255 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

stretched  themselves  less  often  and  with  less 
content  at  the  chimney-side. 

All  the  rooms  at  Shirley  are  richly  pan- 
elled to  the  ceiling,  and  have  heavy,  ornate 
cornices  and  fine,  carved  mantelpieces  and 
doorways.  The  examples  of  interior  wood- 
work especially  regarded  by  connoisseurs  are 
the  panelling  in  the  morning-room,  the  elab- 
orately carved  mantel  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  the  handsome  doorway  between  that 
room  and  the  dining-room. 

Upstairs,  a  central  hallway  runs  through 
the  house,  double  doors  opening  at  both  river- 
ward  and  landward  ends  upon  broad  porti- 
coes. The  bedrooms  on  either  hand  are  pan- 
elled to  the  ceiling.  They  have  deep-set  win- 
dows, open  fireplaces,  and  quaint  old-time 
furnishings. 

And  people  slept  here  back  in  the  seven- 
teenth century;  dreamed  here  in  those  far- 
away times  when  James  Towne,  now  long 
buried  and  almost  forgotten,  was  the  capital 
of  the  little  colony.  Here,  in  succeeding  gen- 
erations, have  slept  many  notable  guests  of 
Shirley.  Tradition  includes  among  these  the 
Duke  of  Argyle,  LaFayette,  our  own  George 
Washington,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

Here,  too,  are  some  of  the  oldest  ghosts 
in  America.  Most  of  these  are  quiet,  well- 

256 


THE   RIGHT   WAY  TO   GO   TO   SHIRLEY 

behaved  members  of  the  household;  but  one 
ancient  shade,  Aunt  Pratt  by  name,  seems 
to  presume  upon  her  age  as  old  people  some- 
times will,  and  is  really  quite  hard  to  get 
along  with. 

Listen  to  an  instance  of  her  downright  un- 
reasonableness. Her  portrait  used  to  hang 
in  the  drawing-room  among  those  of  the  Hills 
(she  is  or  was,  or  however  you  say  it,  a  sister 
of  the  Colonel  Hill  who  built  the  mansion)  ; 
but  having  become  injured  it  was  taken  down 
and  put  away  face  to  the  wall.  Immediately, 
this  ghostly  Aunt  Pratt  showed  deep  resent- 
ment. Womanlike,  she  threw  herself  into  a 
chair  in  one  of  these  bedrooms  and  rocked  and 
rocked  violently.  Of  course  she  disturbed 
the  whole  household;  but  no  matter  how 
noiselessly  people  stole  in  to  catch  her  at  her 
tantrums,  she  was  always  too  quick  for  them 
—  the  room  was  empty,  the  chairs  all  still. 
At  last  the  picture  was  got  out,  repaired,  and 
rehung.  At  once  all  was  peace  and  quiet; 
Aunt  Pratt  had  had  her  way. 


25? 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

FROM  CREEK  HARBOUR  TO  COLONIAL  RECEPTION 

EPPES  CREEK  was  the  most  remote  and  iso- 
lated of  all  our  James  River  harbours.  Gad- 
about was  like  a  bit  of  civilization  that  had 
got  broken  off  and  had  drifted  away  into  the 
wild.  The  stream  was  such  a  mere  ribbon 
with  such  tall  trees  along  its  banks,  that  we 
looked  upward  to  but  a  narrow  lane  of  open 
sky.  Sometimes  the  lane  was  blue,  some- 
times gray,  and  sometimes  dark  and  set  with 
twinkling  stars. 

The  wood  across  the  creek  from  us  was  a 
dismal  looking  place.  The  trees  were  swamp 
cypresses  that  had  lost  their  summer  green, 
and  stood  drooping  and  forlorn  in  the  low, 
marshy  soil.  Nautica  wasted  a  good  deal  of 
sympathy  upon  them  as  she  compared  them 
with  the  richly  clothed  pines  and  the  luxuri- 
ant holly  upon  our  side  of  the  stream. 

There  doubtless  was  game  in  that  desolate 
wood;  although  about  the  only  living  things 

258 


FROM    CREEK   HARBOUR   TO   RECEPTION 

that  we  saw  in  it,  even  when  we  rowed  close 
along  its  ragged  shore,  were  owls.  At  night, 
strange,  uncanny  cries  came  out  of  the  wood, 
and  probably  out  of  the  owls  also;  but  such 
sad  and  querulous  cries  as  may  well  have  been 
the  plaints  of  the  mournful  marsh  forest  it- 
self. Upon  our  Shirley  shore  too,  there  lived 
an  owl,  evidently  of  a  different  kind.  We 
never  saw  him;  but  at  night  he  worked  un- 
tiringly upon  a  voluminous  woodland  edition 
of  "  Who's  Who." 

In  this  harbour,  we  heard  often  the  stir- 
ring cry  out  of  the  high  heavens  that  our  ears 
had  caught  once  in  our  anchorage  at  West- 
over.  And  now  we  saw  the  wild  geese  them- 
selves. 

Each  time,  at  the  first  faint  "  honk,"  we 
got  quickly  to  the  windows  or  out  on  deck, 
and  stood  waiting  for  the  beautiful  V-shaped 
flight  to  come  swinging  into  our  sky-lane. 
And  with  what  a  glorious  sweep  the  birds 
came  on!  And  to  what  gloriously  discordant 
music! 

Sometimes  they  went  over  in  V's  that  were 
quite  regular;  but  often  the  diverging  lines 
would  grow  wavy,  the  beautiful  flying  letter 
still  holding  but  swinging  in  and  out  as 
though  blown  about  on  the  face  of  the  sky. 

Perhaps  we  had  something  to  do  with  those 
259 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

variants  of  the  wild  goose's  favourite  letter. 
Quite  likely  the  sight  of  Gadabout,  flutter- 
ing her  flags  down  there  in  Eppes  Creek, 
made  those  wise  old  gander  leaders  veer  in 
a  way  somewhat  disconcerting  to  their  faith- 
ful followers. 

But  on  they  came,  and  on  they  went  in 
their  wonderful  flight  through  sunshine  and 
through  storm,  by  day  and  by  night;  leaving 
a  strangely  roused  and  quickened  world  be- 
hind them.  Just  a  fleet  passing  of  wings, 
a  clamour  of  cries  —  why  should  one's  heart 
leap,  and  his  nerves  go  restless,  and  joy  and 
sadness  get  mixed  up  inside  him?  A  few 
birds  flying  over  —  yet  stirring  as  a  military 
pageant!  A  jangle  of  senseless  "honks" 
yet  in  it  the  irresistible  urge  of  bugle  and 
drum! 

One  cannot  explain.  One  can  only  stand 
and  look  and  listen,  till  the  living,  flying  let- 
ter is  lost  in  the  sky;  till  his  ear  can  no  longer 
catch  the  glorious,  wild  clangour  of  "  the 
going  of  the  geese." 

Isolated  as  our  anchorage  was,  we  had  a 
connecting  link  between  Gadabout  and  civili- 
zation. It  was  about  three  feet  long,  of  a 
sombre  hue,  and  its  name  was  Bob.  Bob 
brought  us  milk  and  eggs  and  our  mail,  and 
ran  errands  generally.  He  was  usually  at- 

260 


FROM   CREEK   HARBOUR   TO   RECEPTION 

tended  by  such  a  retinue  that  only  the  small- 
est picaninnies  could  have  been  left  back  at  the 
quarters. 

Sometimes,  Bob  lightened  his  labours  by 
having  a  member  of  his  following  carry  a 
pail  or  the  mail-bag.  This  worked  badly; 
for  it  was  only  by  such  badges  of  office  that 
we  were  able  to  tell  which  was  Bob.  But 
after  several  small  coins  had  gone  into  the 
wrong  ragged  hats,  Bob  grasped  the  situa- 
tion; and,  in  a  masterly  way,  solved  the 
question  of  identity  without  losing  the  serv- 
ices of  his  satellites.  Henceforth,  when  we 
heard  the  chattering  boys  coming  through  the 
woods,  if  we  looked  out  promptly  enough, 
we  would  see  Bob  relieving  some  one  of  his 
doubles  of  pail  or  mail-bag;  and  by  the  time 
he  reached  the  houseboat,  he  would  be  in  full 
possession  of  all  means  of  identification. 

:'  Would  you  like  to  go  to  meet  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  on  the  walls? "  Mrs.  Brans- 
ford  asked  one  day  at  Shirley. 

The  invitation  was  accepted  with  as  much 
alacrity  as  if  we  had  feared  that  the  recep- 
tion hours  were  almost  over.  But  there  was 
really  no  need  of  haste;  for  the  lines  of 
notables  on  Shirley's  walls  stand  there  from 
generation  to  generation,  yet  receiving  always 

261 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

with  such  dignity  and  courtesy  as  permit  not 
the  slightest  sign  of  weariness  or  expression 
of  being  bored. 

In  meeting  those  old-time  owners  and  lov- 
ers of  Shirley,  the  visitor  is  passed  from  one 
hand-clasp  to  another,  as  it  were,  down 
through  the  generations  of  colonial  times. 

Giving  precedence  to  age,  we  made  our 
first  fancied  obeisance  before  two  distin- 
guished looking  people  who,  however,  did 
not  seem  entitled  to  any  consideration  what- 
ever on  the  ground  of  age,  being  both  in  the 
prime  of  life.  And  yet,  these  were  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Edward  Hill,  second  of  the  name 
at  Shirley,  and  the  first  master  and  mistress 
of  the  present  manor-house. 

We  were  a  little  surprised  at  the  Colonel's 
appearance;  for  he  was  clean  shaven  and 
wore  a  wig.  Now,  we  had  been  hobnobbing 
long  enough  with  those  beginners  of  our 
country  —  Captain  John  Smith,  Sir  Edwin 
Sandys,  Lord  Delaware,  and  the  rest  —  to 
know  that  they  were  a  bearded  set  and  hadn't 
a  wig  amongst  them. 

Fortunately,  we  remembered  in  time  that 
this  portrait-gentleman,  old  as  he  was,  did 
not  quite  reach  back  to  the  days  of  those 
first  settlers;  and  that  he  had  lived  to  see  the 
great  change  of  fashion  (in  the  reign  of 

262 


FROM   CREEK  HARBOUR  TO   RECEPTION 

Charles  II)  that  made  Englishmen  for  gen- 
erations whiskerless  and  bewigged. 

Though  our  land  was  settled  by  bearded 
men,  with  just  the  hair  on  their  heads  that 
Nature  gave  them  (and  sometimes,  when  the 
Indians  were  active,  not  all  of  that),  yet  the 
country  was  developed  and  made  independent 
and  set  up  as  a  nation  by  smooth-faced  men, 
most  fuzzily  bewigged.  That  reign  of  the 
razor  that  began  in  the  days  of  Colonel  Hill, 
was  a  long  one,  and,  later,  determined  the 
appearance  of  the  Father  of  our  Country. 
Imagine  George  Washington  with  a  Van 
Dyck  beard! 

Of  course  it  was  bad  form  for  us  to  stand 
there  staring  at  the  Colonel  while  we  rea- 
soned out  all  this  matter  of  the  beards  and 
the  wigs.  Now  the  Commodore,  at  a  sug- 
gestion from  Nautica's  elbow,  shifted  to  the 
other  foot  and  cleared  his  throat  to  say  some- 
thing. But  what  was  there  to  say?  It  is 
a  little  trying,  this  meeting  people  who  can- 
not converse  intelligently  upon  anything  that 
has  happened  since  the  seventeenth  century. 

At  last,  we  murmured  something  about 
Charles  II;  and,  to  make  sure,  let  the  mur- 
muring run  over  a  little  into  the  reigns  of 
James  II  and  of  William  and  Mary,  and 
then  passed  on;  though  the  Commodore  felt 

263 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

there  should  have  been  at  least  some  slight 
allusion  to  the  pyramids  and  the  cave-dwell- 
ers. 

We  must  have  taken  very  slowly  the  few 
steps  that  carried  us  to  the  next  member  of 
the  receiving  party;  for  in  that  time  the 
world  moved  on  a  generation,  and  we  found 
ourselves  paying  respects  to  no  less  a  person- 
age than  "  King  "  Carter  himself.  Too  mod- 
est to  suppose  that  he  had  come  over  from 
Corotoman  on  our  account,  we  strongly  sus- 
pected that  the  matter  of  alliance  between  the 
families  of  Hill  and  of  Carter  was  in  the  air; 
which  would  account  for  the  presence  of  the 
potentate  of  the  Rappahannock. 

He  looked  very  imposing  in  his  velvets 
and  his  elaborate,  powdered  periwig,  stand- 
ing ceremoniously,  one  hand  thrust  within 
his  rich,  half -open  waistcoat. 

Now  was  the  time  for  all  that  we  knew 
about  Queen  Anne  and  King  George  the 
First,  and  about  the  recent  removal  of  the 
colonial  capital  from  James  Towne  to  Will- 
iamsburg. 

The  next  dignitaries  were  very  near;  but 
again  it  took  a  generation  to  get  to  them, 
the  names  being  John  Carter  (usually  called 
Secretary  Carter  from  his  important  colonial 
office)  and  Elizabeth  Hill  Carter,  his  wife. 

264 


FROM   CREEK   HARBOUR   TO   RECEPTION 

These  were  the  young  people  who  united  the 
houses  of  Shirley  and  Corotoman.  So,  even 
yet,  we  had  got  down  only  to  the  days  of 
George  the  Second. 

Secretary  and  Mrs.  Carter  were  a  hand- 
some pair;  she,  fair  and  girlish,  with  an  arm- 
ful of  roses;  he,  dark  and  courtly  and  one 
of  the  most  attractive  looking  figures  we  had 
met  in  our  travels  in  Colonial-land.  These 
people  could  not  tell  us  much  about  the  old 
manor-house;  for,  while  possessing  two  of 
the  finest  plantations  in  the  colonies,  Shirley 
and  Corotoman,  they  made  their  home  chiefly 
at  Williamsburg. 

However,  they  were  especially  interesting 
people  to  meet  because  of  their  familiarity 
with  the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
that  brightest  and  most  prosperous  period  of 
colonial  life.  They  could  tell  us  at  first  hand 
of  those  happy,  easy-going  times  that  lay 
between  the  long  struggle  to  establish  the 
colonies  and  the  fierce  struggle  to  make  them 
free. 

Though  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Carter  ex- 
actly said  so,  yet  we  gathered  the  idea  that 
those  were  days  of  much  dress  and  frivolity. 
It  seems  that  ships  came  from  everywhere 
with  handsome  fabrics  and  costly  trifles ;  and 
that  rich  colonials  strove  so  manfully  and  so 

265 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

womanfully  to  follow  the  capricious  foreign 
fashions  (by  means  of  dressed  dolls  received 
from  Paris  and  London)  that  usually  they 
were  not  more  than  a  year  or  two  behind  the 
styles. 

We  could  not  help  feeling  that  the  matter 
of  wigs  must  have  been  an  especially  trouble- 
some one.  As  styles  changed  in  England, 
these  important  articles  of  dress  (often  cost- 
ing in  tobacco  the  equivalent  of  one  hundred 
dollars)  had  to  be  sent  to  London  to  be  made 
over.  Between  the  slowness  of  ships  and  the 
slowness  of  wig-makers,  it  must  often  have 
happened  that  even  such  careful  dressers  as 
the  fastidious  Secretary  himself  would  be 
wearing  wigs  that  would  scarcely  pass  muster 
at  the  Court  of  St.  James  or  at  Bath.  In- 
deed, Secretary  Carter  did  not  deny  there 
being  some  truth  in  this;  but  he  appeared  so 
at  ease  that  day  at  Shirley  that  we  knew,  on 
that  occasion  at  least,  he  was  sure  of  his  wig. 

One  more  progression  along  the  receiving 
line,  one  more  generation  passed  by  the  way, 
and  we  came  upon  Charles  Carter,  with  his 
strong,  kindly  face,  a  gentleman  of  the  days 
of  George  III  and  of  the  last  days  of  colonial 
times. 

And  what  days  those  were!  The  days  of 
stamp  acts  and  "  tea  parties  "  and  minute  men; 

266 


FROM    CREEK   HARBOUR   TO   RECEPTION 

of  state  conventions  and  continental  congresses ; 
of  Lexington  and  Valley  Forge  and  the  sur- 
render of  Cornwall's;  of  the  Articles  of  Con- 
federation and  the  formation  of  the  Union. 
This  Charles  Carter  saw  our  nation  made  and, 
in  the  councils  of  his  colony,  helped  to  make 
it.  Here,  in  old  Shirley,  he  put  down  the  cup 
from  which  he  had  right  loyally  drunk  the 
colonial  toast,  "  The  King!  God  bless  him!  " 
and  he  took  it  up  again  to  loyally  and  proudly 
drink  to  "  George  Washington  and  the  United 
States  of  America." 

We  met  still  other  old-time  people  at  the 
manor-house  that  day;  but  it  would  not  do  to 
try  to  tell  about  them  all.  The  omitted  ones 
do  not  count  much,  being  chiefly  wives. 
Everybody  knows  that  in  meeting  colonial 
people  it  is  scarcely  worth  while  considering 
a  man's  wife,  for  so  soon  she  is  gone  and  he 
has  another. 

Truly,  Shirley's  colonial  reception  was  very 
enjoyable,  we  thought,  as  we  took  a  last 
glance  at  the  serene,  old-time  faces  and  caught 
a  last  whiff  of  ambergris  from  the  queer,  old- 
time  wigs. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

AN    INCONGRUOUS  BIT   OF   HOUSEBOATING 

By  this  time,  we  were  becoming  anxious 
about  the  lateness  of  the  season.  Of  course 
it  was  only  through  some  mistake  that  we 
were  getting  all  those  fine  warm  days  in 
December.  Perhaps  Nature  had  not  had  her 
weather  eye  open  when  Father  Time  wet  his 
thumb  and  turned  over  to  the  last  page  of 
the  calendar.  But  now,  there  was  something 
in  the  look  of  the  sky  and  in  the  feel  of  the  air 
to  make  us  fearful  that  the  mix-up  of  the  sea- 
sons had  been  discovered,  and  that  winter  was 
being  prodded  to  the  front. 

Still  we  lingered  in  Eppes  Creek,  and  soon 
we  could  not  do  otherwise  than  linger;  for 
we  wakened  one  morning  to  find  the  stream 
frozen  over,  and  Gadabout  presenting  the 
incongruous  spectacle  of  a  houseboat  fast  in 
the  ice. 

All  that  day  and  the  next  the  coldness 
held;  and  the  ice  and  the  tide  battled  along 
the  creek  with  crackings  and  roarings  and, 

268 


AN   INCONGRUOUS    BIT    OF   HOUSEBOATING 

now  and  then,  reports  like  pistol  shots.  This 
surely  was  strange  houseboating.  It  was  a 
serious  matter  too.  We  knew  that  we  might 
be  held  in  the  grip  of  the  ice  indefinitely.  We 
did  not  care  to  spend  the  winter  in  Eppes 
Creek;  nor  could  we  abandon  our  boat  there. 

Throwing  on  our  heavy  wraps  and  trying 
to  throw  off  our  heavy  spirits,  we  went  above 
and  paced  the  deck.  In  mockery  our  flags 
rippled  under  the  northwest  wind;  from  our 
flower-boxes,  leafless,  shrivelled  little  arms 
were  held  up  to  us;  while  our  bright  striped 
awning,  with  all  its  associations  of  sunshine 
and  summer-time,  was  close  furled  and  frozen 
stiff  and  hung  with  icicles. 

We  were  surprised  enough  when  the 
weather  suddenly  changed  again,  and  the 
bright,  warm  sun  set  up  such  a  thawing  as 
soon  sent  the  ice  out  of  the  creek  and  our  anx- 
ieties with  it.  But  no  time  was  to  be  lost  in 
getting  away  from  that  beautiful,  treacher- 
ous stream.  We  should  make  one  more  visit 
to  Shirley  and  then  head  again  up  river. 
But  that  last  visit  should  be  a  quite  conven- 
tional one;  we  should  run  the  houseboat 
around  to  the  regular  steamboat  pier  in  front 
of  the  old  manor-house. 

It  was  a  warm,  hazy  afternoon  down  in 
Eppes  Creek  when  we  untied  our  ropes  from 

269 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

the  trees  (cast  them  off,  we  ought  to  say), 
and  Gadabout  pulled  her  nose  from  the  reedy 
bank  and  slowly  backed  out  into  the  stream. 
She  was  obeying  every  turn  of  the  steering- 
wheel  perfectly  (as  indeed  she  always  did  ex- 
cept when  the  mischievous  wind  put  notions 
into  her  head)  ;  and  it  was  not  her  fault  at 
all  when  her  bow  swung  round  under  the  tree 
that  leaned  out  over  the  water  and  almost 
knocked  her  little  chimney  off.  We  dropped 
down  the  stream  and  passed  out  into  the  river 
where  everything  was  softened  and  beautified 
by  the  light  fog. 

Skirting  the  low  northern  shore,  we  looked 
across  the  river  at  the  high  southern  one 
where,  through  the  mist,  we  could  see  the 
town  of  City  Point  and  the  bold  promontory 
that  marked  where  the  Appomattox  was  flow- 
ing into  the  James.  Upon  the  tip  of  the 
promontory  was  the  home  of  the  Eppes  fam- 
ily, "  Appomattox."  While  the  present  house 
is  not  a  colonial  one,  the  estate  is  one  of  the 
oldest  in  the  country. 

Now,  just  ahead  of  us  was  the  Shirley  pier 
on  one  side  of  the  river  and  the  village  of 
Bermuda  Hundred  on  the  other.  We  headed 
first  for  the  village,  our  intention  being  to 
get  some  supplies  there. 

We  could  not  see  much  of  Bermuda  Hun- 
270 


THE   KITCHEX  BUILDING,  FIFTY  YARDS   FROM  THE   MANOR  -  HOUSE. 


AN   INCONGRUOUS    BIT   OF   HOUSEBOATING 

dred,  perhaps  because  there  was  not  much  to 
see.  It  consists  principally  of  age,  having 
been  founded  only  four  years  after  the  settle- 
ment of  James  Towne.  Still,  we  let  the  sailor 
go  ashore  for  butter  and  eggs,  trusting  that 
both  would  be  as  modern  as  possible.  Our 
supplies  aboard,  Gadabout  quickly  carried  us 
across  the  river  and  landed  us  at  Shirley. 

In  that  last  visit  to  the  old  home,  we  went 
across  the  quadrangle  and  into  the  kitchen 
building,  with  its  cook-room  on  one  side  of 
the  hall  and  its  bake-room  on  the  other.  Of 
course  most  of  the  colonial  kitchen  appoint- 
ments had  long  since  disappeared;  but  we 
were  glad  to  see,  in  the  stone-paved  bake- 
room,  the  old-time  brick  ovens.  With  their 
cavernous  depths,  they  were  quite  an  object 
lesson  in  early  Virginia  hospitality. 

And  can  any  modern  ranges  bake  quite  as 
perfectly  as  did  those  colonial  brick  ovens? 
After  a  fire  of  oven-wood  had  flamed  for 
hours  in  one  of  those  brick  chambers,  and  at 
last  the  iron  door  had  been  opened  and  the 
ashes  swept  out,  the  heated  interior  was  ready 
to  receive  the  meats  and  breads  and  pastry, 
and  to  bake  them  "  to  a  turn." 

When,  in  the  restoration  of  Mount  Vernon, 
the  kitchen  was  reached,  recourse  was  had 
to  Shirley's  kitchen.  Drawings  were  made 

271 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

of  an  unusual  colonial  table,  of  a  pair  of  and- 
irons with  hooks  for  spits  to  rest  on,  and  of 
several  other  old-time  cookery  appointments; 
and,  from  these  drawings,  were  constructed 
the  duplicates  that  are  now  in  the  Mount 
Vernon  kitchen. 

It  was  on  our  way  from  the  kitchen  to  the 
mansion  that  we  came  upon  another  visitor 
to  Shirley.  She  was  short  and  round  and 
black  and  smiling  and  "  feelin'  tol'ble,  thank 
you,  ma'am."  This,  we  learned,  was  Aunt 
Patsy.  She  had  "  jes  heard  dat  Miss  Marion 
done  come  home";  and  so,  arrayed  in  her 
best  clothes  including  a  spotless  checked 
apron,  she  had  come  to  "  de  gre't  house " 
to  pay  her  respects  to  Mrs.  Oliver. 

Drawn  out  somewhat  for  our  benefit,  she 
gave  her  views  upon  the  subject  of  matri- 
mony. 

'  I  been  married  five  times,"  she  said.  We 
were  not  particularly  surprised  at  that;  but 
were  scarcely  prepared  for  the  added  state- 
ment, "  an'  I  done  had  two  husban's." 

However,  no  one  could  fail  to  understand 
Aunt  Patsy's  position,  and  to  heartily  agree 
with  her,  when  she  came  to  explain  her  mari- 
tal paradox. 

"  De  way  'tis  is  dis  way,"  she  said.  "  What 
I  calls  a  husban'  is  one  dat  goes  out,  he  do, 

272 


A    BRICK    OVEX    IX    THE    BAKE  -  ROOM. 


AN   INCONGRUOUS   BIT   OF   HOUSEBOATING 

an'  gethahs  up  "  (here,  a  sweeping  gesture 
with  the  apron,  suggestive  of  lavish  ingather- 
ing), "gethahs  up  things  an'  brings  'em  in 
to  me.  But  what  I  calls  liaviri  a  man  aroun 
is  whar  he  sets  by  de  fiah  and  smokes  he  pipe, 
while  I  goes  out  an'  wuks  an'  brings  things 
home,  an'  he  eats  what  I  gives  him.  An'  dat's 
how  come  I  been  married  five  times,  an'  I 
done  had  two  husban's." 

Before  the  old  oak  chest  was  opened  for 
us,  that  day  at  Shirley,  we  knew  that  this 
colonial  home  was  rich  in  antique  silver.  Yet, 
the  family  speak  of  the  many  pieces  as  "  rem- 
nants," because  of  the  still  greater  number 
lost  at  the  time  of  the  war.  The  plate  was 
sent  for  safe-keeping  to  a  man  in  Richmond 
wrho  was  afterward  able  to  account  for  but 
a  small  part  of  it.  Evidently,  the  Hills  and 
the  Carters  went  far  in  following  the  old  colo- 
nial custom  of  investing  in  household  silver. 
And  as  an  investment  the  purchase  of  this 
ware  was  largely  regarded  in  those  days ;  fam- 
ily plate  being  deemed  one  of  the  best  forms 
in  which  to  hold  surplus  wealth. 

Different  periods  are  represented  in  the  old 
pieces  yet  remaining  at  Shirley.  There  are 
the  graceful,  classic  types  of  the  days  of  the 
Georges ;  the  earlier  ornate,  rococo  forms ;  and 
the  yet  earlier  massive  styles  of  the  time  of 

273 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Queen  Anne  and  long  before.  Among  the 
most  ancient  pieces,  are  heavy  tankards  that 
remind  one  of  the  long  ago,  when  such  great 
communal  cups  went  round  from  merry  lip 
to  merry  lip  —  microbes  all  unknown.  The 
numerous  spoons  too  speak  of  the  time  when 
there  were  no  forks  to  share  their  labours. 
Most  of  the  silver  remaining  to-day  is  en- 
graved with  the  coat  of  arms  of  the  Car- 
ters. 

Suggestive  of  the  days  when  colonial  belles 
were  toasted  about  Shirley's  table,  are  the 
old  punch  bowl  and  the  punch  strainer  and 
the  wine  coasters;  though  a  more  noteworthy 
object,  having  the  same  associations,  is  an 
antique  mahogany  wine  chest  with  many  of 
the  original  cut  glass  bottles  still  in  its  com- 
partments. 

And  looking  at  Shirley's  old  silver  in  Shir- 
ley's old  dining-room,  we  thought  of  the  lav- 
ish colonial  entertainments  in  which  both  had 
played  their  part.  What  hospitable  places 
were  those  early  planters'  homes!  As  courts, 
assemblies,  races,  funerals,  weddings,  and  fes- 
tivals took  the  people  up  and  down  the  coun- 
try, they  found  few  inns ;  but,  instead,  at  every 
great  plantation,  wide-spreading  roofs  and 
ever-open  doors.  The  spirit  of  welcome  even 
stood  at  the  gates  and  laid  hands  upon  the 

274 


AN   INCONGRUOUS   BIT  OF  HOUSEBOATING 

passing  traveller,  drawing  him  up  the  shady 
avenues  and  into  the  hospitable  homes. 

In  the  days  of  the  colonial  Carters  (who, 
through  a  complicated  network  of  intermar- 
riages, were  cousins  to  all  the  rest  of  Vir- 
ginia), Shirley  must  often  have  been  full  to 
overflowing. 

And,  along  with  our  thoughts  of  Shirley's 
hospitality,  came  the  recollection  of  a  pretty 
story  that  had  been  told  to  us  one  day  at 
Brandon  by  Miss  Mary  Lee,  daughter  of 
General  Robert  E.  Lee.  It  was  a  story  of 
one  of  the  merry,  old-time  gatherings  about 
Charles  Carter's  long  table  in  the  Shirley 
dining-room.  Among  the  guests  was  a  dash- 
ing young  cavalry  officer  who  had  won  fame 
and  the  rank  of  general  in  the  Revolutionary 
War;  and  who,  in  his  unsatisfied  military 
ardour,  was  contemplating  joining  the  Revo- 
lutionary Army  of  France.  But  just  now,  he 
was  contemplating  only  his  host  and  his  dinner. 

Suddenly,  he  became  aware  of  a  flushed 
and  charming  maiden  in  distress.  She  had 
lifted  a  great  cut  glass  dish  filled  with  straw- 
berries, and  it  was  more  than  her  little  hands 
could  hold.  She  strove  to  avert  a  crash;  and, 
just  in  time,  the  gallant  young  General 
caught  the  appealing  look  from  the  dark  eyes 
and  the  toppling  dish  from  the  trembling 

275 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

hands.  But  in  saving  the  bowl  and  the  ber- 
ries, he  lost  his  heart. 

And  the  maiden  was  Anne  Hill  Carter, 
daughter  of  the  genial  host;  and  the  young 
General  was  "  Light  Horse  Harry "  Lee. 
The  dreams  of  further  glory  on  French  bat- 
tlefields were  abandoned;  and  there  was  an- 
other feast  at  Shirley  when  bridal  roses  of 
June  were  in  bloom.  The  young  people  went 
to  live  at  Stratford,  the  ancestral  home  of  the 
Lees;  and  there  was  born  their  famous  son, 
Robert  E.  Lee. 

As  Shirley's  old  dining-room  thus  brought 
to  our  minds  that  greatest  Virginian  of  our 
day,  so  it  brought  to  mind  the  greatest  Vir- 
ginian of  all  days;  for,  even  as  we  looked 
at  silver  and  thought  of  love  stories,  a  life- 
size  portrait  of  George  Washington,  by 
Charles  Wilson  Peale,  stood  looking  down 
upon  us  from  the  panelled  wall. 

It  is  a  noted  and  invaluable  canvas  that 
hangs  there  at  Shirley,  and  it  is  doubtless  a 
good  likeness  of  the  Father  of  our  Country; 
but  it  is  not  just  the  George  Washington  that 
most  of  us  have  in  our  mind's  eye.  When 
the  average  American  thinks  of  hatchets  and 
cherry  trees  and  abnormal  truthfulness,  the 
face  that  rises  before  him  is  that  benign  and 
fatherly  one  that  he  has  seen  a  thousand  times 

276 


PEALE'S  PORTRAIT  OF  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


AN   INCONGRUOUS   BIT   OF   HOUSEBOATING 

in  the  popular  reproductions  of  the  portrait 
by  Gilbert  Stuart.  Just  as  for  generations 
only  the  good  has  been  told  of  George  Wash- 
ington, so  has  this  handsomest  picture  (doubt- 
less a  trifle  flattering)  always  been  the  pop- 
ular one. 

However,  in  this  day,  when  the  ideal 
George  Washington  of  story  is  being  ruth- 
lessly brushed  aside  in  the  search  for  the  real 
flesh-and-blood  man,  any  canvas  also  that  has 
idealized  him  is  somewhat  in  jeopardy. 

It  is  well  that  the  Washington  of  Sparks 
and  of  Irving  and  of  Stuart  should  be  super- 
seded by  the  truer  Washington  of  Mitchell 
and  of  Ford  and  of  Peale;  but  the  result 
will  be  that,  for  a  while,  the  country  will 
scarcely  recognize  its  own  father. 

Always  at  Shirley  our  interest  came  back 
to  the  old  colonial  hall.  Of  course,  to  get  the 
good  of  it,  one  had  to  set  one's  eyes  so  as  to 
throw  out  of  focus  many  marks  of  modern- 
ism; but  that  adjustment  would  almost  come 
of  itself  with  a  little  study  of  quaint  tran- 
soms, or  of  ancient  hatchments,  or,  above  all, 
of  the  time-worn  stairway. 

Why  is  it  that  the  spirit  of  the  long-ago 
so  clings  about  an  old  stairway?  Why  should 
the  empty  stair  seem  to  remember  so  much, 
to  suggest  so  much,  of  a  life  that  came  to  it 

277 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

only  in  fitful  passings  and  that  left  nothing 
of  itself  behind? 

There  were  no  signs  of  that  long  by-gone 
life  upon  Shirley's  stairway,  save  for  a  dim- 
ming of  the  old  rail  where  countless  hands 
-strong,  feeble,  fair  —  had  lightly  rested 
or,  more  helpless,  clung;  and  save  for  that 
worn  trail  of  the  generations  that  followed 
up  the  dull,  dark  treads.  But  even  these  had 
much  to  tell  of  the  passings  for  nearly  two 
centuries  and  a  half  up  and  down  this  house- 
hold highway :  of  the  masterful  tread  of  spur- 
shod  boots,  the  dancing  of  the  belle's  slim- 
slippered  feet,  the  pompous  double  steps  of 
bumpy  baby  shoes,  the  gouty  stump  of  old 
grandsire,  and  the  faithful  shamble  of  the 
black  boy  at  his  heels. 

That  day  (regretfully  our  last  in  this  colo- 
nial home)  not  only  the  stairway  but  all  of 
the  old  house  seemed  inclined  to  become  rem- 
iniscent. Nautica  noticed  this  in  the  quiet 
drawing-room  that  would  keep  bringing  up 
by-gone  times,  and,  she  insisted,  by-gone  peo- 
ple too.  In  the  great  hall,  even  the  Commo- 
dore felt  the  mood  of  old  Shirley  and  the 
presence  of  a  life  that  all  seemed  natural 
enough,  but  that  must  have  come  a  good  ways 
out  of  the  past. 

On  the  staircase,  despite  the  dim  light  over 
278 


AN   INCONGRUOUS   BIT   OF  HOUSEBOATING 

there  (or  because  of  it),  one  could  even  catch 
sight  of  a  shadowy  old-time  company. 

There  were  stately  figures  passing  up  and 
down:  the  old  lords  of  the  wilderness  in  vel- 
vet coats  and  huge  wigs,  and  ladies  of  the 
wilderness  too  in  rich  brocades  and  laced 
stomachers.  There  were  many  slender  and 
youthful  figures.  Charmingly  odd  and  quaint 
were  the  merry  groups  of  girls,  catching  and 
swaying  upon  the  shadowy  stair;  dainty  ruf- 
fles peeping  through  the  balusters;  laughing 
faces  bending  above  the  dark,  old  rail.  And 
fine  indeed  were  the  gallants  that  did  them 
homage ;  those  young  colonials  of  bright  vel- 
vets and  flowered  waistcoats  and  lace  ruffles 
and  powdered  periwigs. 

Now,  from  the  stairway  the  old-time  life 
spread  throughout  the  old-time  home.  Shir- 
ley was  living  over  again  some  merry-making 
of  colonial  days.  That  was  the  Governor 
that  just  passed  with  the  glint  of  gold  lace 
and  the  glint  of  gold  snuff-box;  and  that, 
a  councillor's  lady  that  rustled  by  in  stiff  silks, 
her  feet  in  gold-heeled  slippers  and  her  pow- 
dered head  dressed  "  Dutch."  And  quite  as 
fine  and  quite  as  quaint  were  the  ladies  that 
followed  in  their  gay  flowered  "  sacques " 
looped  back  from  bright  petticoats  and  point 
lace  aprons. 

279 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

It  was  all  as  London-like  as  might  be: 
rich  velvets  and  brocades,  wide-hooped  skirts 
and  stiff  stomachers,  laced  coats  and  embroid- 
ered waistcoats,  broad  tuckers  and  Mechlin 
ruffles,  high-heeled  shoes  and  handsome  buck- 
les, powdered  wigs  and  powdered  puffs,  and 
crescent  beauty  patches. 

Evidently,  by  colonial  time,  twilight  was 
coming  on;  for  now  the  fragrant  bayberry 
candles  were  lighted.  There  was  the  faint 
tinkle  of  a  harpsichord.  Dim  figures  moved 
in  the  stately  minuet;  their  curtsies,  punc- 
tiliously in  keeping  with  the  last  word  from 
London,  were  "  slow  and  low." 

Little  groups  gathered  about  the  card  ta- 
bles, where  fresh  candles  and  ivory  counters 
were  waiting.  Lovers  found  their  way  to 
deep  window-seats;  and  lovers  of  yet  another 
sort  to  brimming  glasses  and  colonial  toasts, 
and  perhaps  to  wigs  awry. 

It  was  the  old-time  Shirley,  the  strange, 
incongruous  Shirley  that  was  a  bright  bit  of 
English  manor  life  within;  and,  without, 
wilderness  and  savages  and  tobacco-fields  and 
Africans.  In  from  the  life  of  the  old  mes- 
suage, came  a  touch  of  the  barbaric;  weird 
minor  songs  that  belonged  with  the  hot  throb 
of  the  African  tom-tom  floated  in  through 
the  deep  windows,  and  strangely  mingled 

280 


with  the  thin  tinkle  of  the  harpsichord  and 
the  tender  strains  of  an  old  English  ballad. 

The  green  bayberry  candles  grew  dim,  and 
in  their  fragrant  smoke  the  old  colonials  faded 
away.  Our  visit  at  Shirley  was  over. 

Out  in  the  quadrangle,  we  turned  for  a 
last  look  at  the  homestead,  and  were  almost 
forced  to  doubt  that  old  colonial  scene  that 
we  had  just  left  within.  There  stood  the  fine 
buildings  in  perfect  preservation,  insisting  at 
last  as  they  had  insisted  at  first  that  this  mat- 
ter of  old  age  was  but  a  huge  mistake  —  that 
they  had  been  built  but  yesterday. 


381 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE   END   OF   THE   VOYAGE 

BEFORE  daylight  on  the  following  morning 
Gadabout  was  awake  and  astir.  She  had  re- 
solved to  catch  the  early  tide  and  finish  her 
James  River  cruise  that  day  by  a  final  run 
to  the  head  of  navigation  at  Richmond. 

For  the  last  time  the  clacking  windlass  was 
calling  the  sleeping  anchor  from  its  bed  in 
the  river;  the  Commodore  was  hanging  out 
the  sailing-lights;  and  Nautica  (who  could 
not  find  the  dividers)  was  stepping  off  the 
distance  to  Richmond  on  the  chart  with  a 
hairpin. 

How  dreary  a  start  before  dawn  sounds  to 
a  landsman !  The  hated  early  call ;  the  hasty 
breakfast  with  coffee-cup  in  one  hand  and 
time-table  in  the  other;  the  dismal  drive 
through  dull,  sleeping  streets;  the  cheerless 
station;  the  gloomy  train-shed  with  its  lines 
of  coaches  wrapped  in  acrid  engine  smoke. 

But  the  houseboater  knows  another  way. 
For  him,  the  early  call  is  the  call  of  the  tide 


THE   END   OF   THE   VOYAGE 


that  finds  ready  response  from  a  lover  of  the 
sea.  Does  the  tide  serve  before  dawn,  man 
of  the  ship?  Then  before  dawn  its  stir  is  in 
your  blood;  your  anchor  is  heaved  home; 
your  sailing-lights,  white  and  green  and  red, 
are  bravely  twinkling;  your  propellers  are 
tossing  the  waters  astern;  and  you  are  off. 

You  are  off  with  the  flood  just  in  from 
the  sea,  or  with  the  ebb  that  is  seeking  the 
sea;  and  with  it  you  go  along  a  way  where 
no  one  has  passed  before  —  an  evanescent 
way  that  is  made  of  night  shades  and  river 
mists.  And  after  a  while  you  come  upon  a 
wonderful  thing  —  almost  the  solemn  wonder 
of  creation,  as,  from  those  thinning,  shimmer- 
ing veils,  the  world  comes  slowly  forth  and 
takes  shape  again. 

When  the  real  world  took  shape  for  Gad- 
about that  morning  on  the  James,  she  was 
some  distance  above  Shirley  and  the  river  was 
a  smaller  river  than  we  had  seen  at  any  time 
before.  By  the  chart,  we  observed  that  it 
was  a  comparatively  narrow  stream  all  the 
rest  of  the  way  to  Richmond. 

We  had  now  entered  upon  a  portion  of  the 
old  waterway  that  Nautica  insisted  had  been 
done  up  in  curl-papers.  Here,  the  voyager 
must  sail  around  twenty  miles  of  frivolous 
loops  to  make  five  miles  of  progress. 

283 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

Upon  coming  to  a  group  of  buildings  indi- 
cated on  the  chart  and  standing  close  to  the 
right  bank,  we  knew  that  Gadabout  had  nav- 
igated the  first  of  the  fussy  curls.  Around 
it,  we  had  travelled  six  miles  since  leaving 
Shirley,  and  now  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  the  old  manor-house  itself 
stood  just  across  from  these  buildings,  less 
than  a  mile  away. 

On  a  little  farther,  we  passed  a  fine  plan- 
tation home  called  Curie's  Neck.  A  long 
while  after  that,  another  large  plantation, 
Meadowville,  came  alongside.  But  the  curi- 
ous thing  was  that,  at  the  same  time,  along- 
side came  Curie's  Neck  again.  We  had  trav- 
elled something  over  four  miles  since  leav- 
ing it,  yet  there  it  stood  directly  opposite 
and  less  than  three  quarters  of  a  mile  from 
us. 

Perhaps  the  river  observed  that  we  were 
getting  a  little  out  of  patience;  for,  almost 
immediately,  it  sought  to  beguile  us  by  bring- 
ing into  view  one  of  its  show  points,  a  land- 
ing on  the  left  bank  with  a  large  brick  house 
near  by.  The  chart  told  us  that  this  was 
Varina ;  and  the  guide-books  told  us  a  pretty 
story  about  how  here,  in  their  honeymoon 
days,  lived  John  Rolfe  and  Pocahontas. 

Although  that  honeymoon  was  almost  three 
284 


THE   END   OF   THE   VOYAGE 


centuries  gone,  and  there  was  nothing  left  at 
Varina  to  tell  of  it,  yet  somehow  our  thoughts 
quickened  and  Gadabout's  engines  slowed  as 
we  sailed  along  the  romantic  site. 

To  be  sure,  to  keep  up  the  spirit  of  romance 
one  has  to  overlook  a  good  deal.  The  fact 
that  John  Rolfe  had  been  married  before  and 
the  report  that  Pocahontas  had  been  too,  some- 
what discouraged  sentiment.  And  then,  was 
it  love,  after  all,  that  built  the  rude  little 
home  of  that  strange  pair  somewhere  up  there 
on  the  shore?  Or,  had  Cupid  no  more  to  do 
with  that  first  international  marriage  in  our 
history  than  he  has  had  to  do  with  many  a 
later  one?  Can  it  be  that  politics  and  relig- 
ion drew  John  Rolfe  to  the  altar?  and  that 
a  broken  heart  led  Pocahontas  there? 

Poor  little  bride  in  any  event!  A  forest 
child  —  wrapped  in  her  doe-skin  robe,  the 
down  of  the  wild  pigeon  at  her  throat,  her 
feet  in  moccasins,  and  her  hair  crested  with 
an  eagle's  feather;  bravely  struggling  with 
civilization,  with  a  new  home,  a  new  language, 
new  customs,  and  a  new  religion. 

How  many  times,  when  it  all  bore  heavy 
on  her  wildwood  soul,  did  she  steal  down  to 
this  ragged  shore,  push  out  in  her  slender 
canoe,  and  find  comfort  in  the  fellowship  of 
this  turbulent,  untamable  river!  And  how 

285 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

often  did  she  turn  from  her  home  to  the  wil- 
derness, slipping  in  noiseless  moccasins  back 
into  the  narrow,  mysterious  trails  of  the  red 
man,  where  bended  twig  and  braided  rush  and 
scar  of  bark  held  messages  for  her  1 

Then  came  the  time  when  the  river  and 
the  forest  were  lost  to  her.  The  princess  of 
the  wilderness  had  become  the  wonder  of  a 
day  at  the  Court  of  King  James.  Almost 
mockingly  comes  up  the  old  portrait  of  her, 
painted  in  London  when  she  had  "  become 
very  formall  and  civill  after  our  English 
manner."  The  rigid  figure  caparisoned  in 
the  white  woman's  furbelows;  the  stiff,  heavy 
hat  upon  the  black  hair;  the  set  face,  and 
the  sad  dark  eyes  —  a  dusky  woodland  crea- 
ture choked  in  the  ruff  of  Queen  Bess. 

When  Varina  was  left  behind,  we  fell  to 
berating  the  tortuous  river  again.  Of  course 
we  did  not  think  for  a  moment  that  the  troub- 
lesome curlicues  we  were  finding  had  always 
been  there.  When  the  river  was  the  old,  sav- 
age Powhatan,  we  may  be  sure  it  never 
stooped  in  its  dignity  of  flow  to  such  frivol- 
ity. These  kinks  were  silly  artificialities  that 
came  when  the  noble  old  barbarian  was  civ- 
ilized and  named  in  honour  of  a  vain  and 
frivolous  foreign  king. 

Now,  just  ahead  of  us,  was  the  most  foolish 
286 


THE   END   OF   THE   VOYAGE 


frizzle  of  all.  It  was  a  loop  five  miles  around, 
and  yet  with  the  ends  so  close  together  that 
a  boy  could  throw  a  stone  across  the  strip 
of  land  between.  At  a  very  early  day,  sen- 
sible folk  lost  patience  and  sought,  by  dig- 
ging a  canal  across  the  narrow  neck,  to  cut 
this  offensive  curl  off  altogether. 

Some  Dutchmen  among  the  colonists  were 
the  first  to  try  this  (and  Dutchmen  under- 
stand waterway  barbering  better  than  any- 
body else) ;  but  they  were  unsuccessful. 
Their  efforts  seem  to  have  resulted  only  in 
giving  the  place  the  name  of  Dutch  Gap. 
Many  years  ago,  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment took  up  the  work  and,  in  1872,  the  five- 
mile  curl  was  effectually  cut  off  by  the  Dutch 
Gap  Canal. 

A  good  deal  of  interesting  history  is  asso- 
ciated with  this  loop  of  the  James.  Here,  but 
four  years  after  the  coming  of  those  first 
colonists,  the  town  of  Henrico  or  Henricop- 
olis  was  founded.  The  place  made  a  some- 
what pretentious  beginning  and  was  doubt- 
less intended  to  supersede  James  Towne  as 
the  capital  of  the  colony.  Steps  were  taken 
to  establish  a  college  here.  If  they  had  been 
successful,  Harvard  College  could  not  lay 
claim  to  one  of  its  present  honours,  that  of 
being  the  earliest  college  in  America.  But 

287 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

the  Indian  massacre  of  1622  caused  the  aban- 
donment of  the  college  project  and  of  Hen- 
ricopolis  too. 

We  passed  into  the  canal,  which  was  so 
short  that  we  were  scarcely  into  it  before  we 
were  out  again  and  headed  on  up  the  river. 
The  banks  of  the  stream  grew  higher  and 
bolder,  and  we  were  soon  running  much  of 
the  time  between  bluffs  with  trees  hanging 
over. 

On  some  of  the  bald  cliffs  buzzards  gath- 
ered to  sun  themselves;  and  they  lay  motion- 
less even  as  we  passed,  their  wings  spread 
to  the  full  in  the  fine  sunshine.  It  was  al- 
most the  sunshine  of  summer-time.  In  its 
glow  we  could  scarcely  credit  our  own  recol- 
lections of  some  wintry  bits  of  houseboating ; 
and  as  to  that  story  in  our  note-books  about 
our  being  ice-bound  in  Eppes  Creek,  it  was 
too  much  to  ask  ourselves  to  believe  a  word 
of  it. 

In  colonial  times  there  were  a  number  of 
fine  homes  along  this  part  of  the  James,  but 
most  of  them  have  long  since  disappeared. 
Just  after  passing  Falling  Creek  we  came 
upon  one  colonial  mansion  yet  standing.  It 
belonged  in  those  old  times  to  the  Randolphs, 
and  is  best  known  perhaps  as  the  home  of  the 
colonial  belle,  Mistress  Anne  Randolph. 

288 


DUTCH    GAP    CAXAL 


FALLING    CREEK. 


THE   END   OF  THE   VOYAGE 


Among  the  beaux  of  the  stirring  days  just 
before  the  Revolution,  she  was  a  reigning 
toast  under  the  popular  name  of  "  Nancy 
Wilton."  The  second  Benjamin  Harrison 
of  Brandon  was  among  her  wooers;  and  it 
is  to  his  courtship  that  Thomas  Jefferson  re- 
fers when  expressing,  in  one  of  his  letters,  the 
hope  that  his  old  college  roommate  may  have 
luck  at  Wilton.  He  did  have.  And  we 
remembered  the  sweet-faced  portrait  at  Bran- 
don of  "  Nancy  Wilton  "  Harrison. 

Soon,  our  course  was  along  a  narrow  chan- 
nel saw-toothed  with  jetties  on  either  hand. 
The  signs  of  life  upon  the  river  told  that  we 
were  nearing  Richmond.  We  passed  some 
work-boats,  tugs,  dredges,  and  such  craft,  and 
everybody  whistled. 

Over  the  top  of  a  rise  of  land  that  marked 
the  next  bend  of  the  river,  we  saw  an  ugly 
dark  cloud.  It  had  been  long  since  we  had 
seen  a  cloud  like  that;  but  there  is  no  mis- 
taking the  black  hat  of  a  city. 

So,  there  was  Richmond  seated  beside  the 
falls  in  the  James  —  those  water-bars  that  the 
river  would  not  let  down  for  any  ship  to  pass ; 
there  was  where  our  journey  would  end.  To 
be  sure,  long  years  ago,  the  pale-faces  out- 
witted the  old  tawny  Powhatan  by  building 
a  canal  around  its  barriers.  Their  ships 

289 


VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

climbed  great  steps  that  they  called  locks; 
and,  passing  around  the  falls  and  rapids, 
went  up  and  on  their  way  far  toward  the 
mountains.  But  the  river  knew  the  ways  of 
the  white  man,  and  kept  its  water-bars  up 
and  waited. 

After  a  while  the  pale-faces  took  to  a  new 
way  of  getting  themselves  and  their  belong- 
ings over  the  country;  they  went  rolling 
about  on  rails  instead  of  floating  on  the  water ; 
and  before  long,  they  almost  forgot  the  old 
waterways.  Nature  waited  a  while  and  then 
took  their  abandoned  canals  to  grow  rushes 
and  water-lilies;  and  she  covered  the  tow- 
paths  with  green  and  put  tangles  of  under- 
growth along ;  and  then  she  gave  it  all  to  the 
birds  and  the  frogs  and  the  turtles. 

So,  it  came  to  pass  that  river  barriers 
counted  once  more  —  that  the  barrier  across 
our  river  counted  once  more.  We  did  not 
know  whether  the  canal  ahead  of  us  was 
wholly  abandoned;  but  we  did  know  that 
it  was  so  obstructed  as  to  no  longer  fur- 
nish a  way  of  getting  a  vessel  above  the 
falls. 

The  Powhatan  was  master  again;  and  a 
little  way  beyond  that  next  bend  it  would 
bar  the  progress  of  Gadabout  just  as,  three 
centuries  earlier,  it  had  barred  the  progress 

290 


THE  END   OF  THE   VOYAGE 


of  the  exploring  boats  that  the  first  settlers 
sent  up  from  James  Towne. 

Well,  it  was  high  time  anyway  for  our 
journey  to  end.  We  had  been  several  months 
upon  the  river  —  several  months  in  travelling 
one  hundred  miles!  One  can  not  always  go 
lazing  on,  even  in  a  houseboat;  even  upon 
an  ancient  waterway  leading  through  Colo- 
nial-land. 

The  old  river  may  carry  you  to  the  begin- 
ning-place of  your  country;  it  may  bear 
you  on  to  the  doors  of  famous  colonial  homes, 
full  of  old-time  charm  and  traditional  cour- 
tesy. But  if  so,  then  all  the  more  need  for 
falls  and  rapids  to  put  a  reasonable  end  to 
your  houseboat  voyage. 

We  came  about  the  bend  in  the  stream 
and,  at  sight  of  the  city  before  us,  were  re- 
minded of  the  keen  prevision  of  its  colonial 
founder.  When  Colonel  William  Byrd,  that 
sagacious  exquisite  of  Westover,  came  up  the 
river  one  day  in  1733  to  this  part  of  his  al- 
most boundless  estate,  and  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  Richmond  here  in  the  wilderness  be- 
side the  Falls  of  the  James,  he  foresaw  that 
he  was  founding  a  great  city.  A  "  city  in  the 
air"  he  called  it,  and  his  dream  came  true. 
Its  realization  in  steeples  and  spires  and  chim- 
neys and  roof-lines  opened  before  us  now 

291 


VIRGINIA :  THE  OLD  DOMINION 

upon  the  slopes  and  the  summits  of  the  river 
hills. 

Soon  we  were  skirting  the  city's  water 
front.  We  passed  piers  and  factories  and 
many  boats.  We  went  from  the  pure  air  of 
the  open  river  into  the  tainted  breath  of  the 
town.  Among  many  odours  there  came  to 
be  chiefly  one  —  that  of  tobacco  from  the 
great  factories. 

And  that  brought  to  mind  a  strange  fact. 
In  all  our  journey  up  the  river,  we  had  not 
seen  a  leaf  of  tobacco  nor  had  we  seen  a 
place  where  it  was  grown.  Tobacco,  upon 
which  civilization  along  the  James  had  been 
built;  that  had  once  covered  with  its  broad 
leaves  almost  every  cultivated  acre  along  the 
stream ;  that  had  made  the  greatness  of  every 
plantation  home  we  had  visited  —  and  now 
unknown  among  the  products  of  the  fertile 
river  banks! 

At  last  Gadabout  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
falls  and  rapids.  Like  those  first  exploring 
colonists  we  found  that  here  "  the  water  fall- 
eth  so  rudely,  and  with  such  a  violence,  as 
not  any  boat  can  possibly  passe." 

Of  course  there  was  a  temptation  to  do 
with  our  boat  as  the  colonists  once  proposed 
to  do  with  theirs  —  take  her  to  pieces  and 
then  put  her  together  again  above  the  falls, 

292 


THE  VOYAGE  ENDED.      GADABOUT   IX    WINTER   QUARTERS. 


THE   END   OF  THE   VOYAGE 


and  so  sail  on  up  the  old  waterway  to  the 
South  Sea  and  to  the  Indies.  But  the  ex- 
ploring spirit  of  the  race  is  not  what  it  used 
to  be,  and  we  simply  ran  Gadabout  into  a 
slip  beside  the  disused  canal  and  stopped. 
An  anchor  went  plump  into  the  water,  ma- 
king a  wave-circle  that  spread  and  spread 
till  it  filled  the  whole  basin  —  a  great  round 
water-period  to  end  our  river  story. 


THE   END. 


293 


INDEX 


Adams,  236. 

Alexander,  Elizabeth,  166. 

Appomattox  River,  The,  270. 

Association  for  the  Preserva- 
tion of  Virginia  Antiquities, 
The,  48,  90. 

Back  River,  The,  32,  40. 

Bacon,  Nathaniel,  46. 

Barney,  Mrs.  Edward  E., 
owner  of  Jamestown  Island, 
48,  90. 

Berkeley,  Lady  Frances,  60. 

Berkeley,  Sir  William,  45. 

Berkeley  (the  estate),  109; 
home  of  elder  branch  of 
Harrison  family,  236;  an- 
cestral home  of  a  signer  of 
the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, and  of  two  Presi- 
dents of  the  United  States, 
236;  plantation  in  1776, 
237. 

Bermuda  Hundred,  village 
founded  four  years  after  set- 
tlement of  James  Towne, 
270-271. 

Brandon,  100,  103,  104;  his- 
tory of,  107-109;  riverward 
entrance  to  grounds,  110- 
112;  the  "  woods- way  "  to 
the  mansion,  113;  "  the 
quarters,"  114;  the  land- 
ward entrance,  115;  type 
of  architecture,  115;  char- 
acteristic hospitality,  115- 


interior  of  mansion,  116; 
colonial  portraits,  116; 
the  old  garden,  119-121; 
present  day  family  at  Bran- 
don, 125;  the  bedrooms, 
127;  colonial  silver,  135; 
ancient  records,  136;  an 
old  court  gown,  137;  the 
family  burying-ground,  140; 
the  garrison  house,  141. 

Bransford,  Mrs.  H.  W.,  of  the 
Carter  family  of  Shirley,  and 
one  of  the  present  owners 
of  the  plantation,  living  in 
the  manor-house,  251-252; 
261. 

Buck,  Reverend  Richard,  76. 

Byrd,  Evelyn,  portrait  and 
romance  of,  117-119;  195, 
196;  her  room  at  Westover, 
201-202;  220;  tomb  of, 
225. 

Byrd,  Lucy  Parke,  wife  of 
William  Byrd  of  Westover, 
195. 

Byrd,  William,  the  second, 
of  Westover,  117;  portrait 
at  Brandon,  126;  194-195; 
about  1726  built  present 
mansion  at  Westover,  196' 
death,  197;  207,208;  tomb 
of,  210-211;  ability  of  this 
colonial  grandee,  211;  220 
founded  the  city  of  Rich- 
mond, 291-292. 


INDEX 


Carter,  Anne  Hill,  of  Shirley, 
wife  of  "Light  Horse  Harry" 
Lee  and  mother  of  General 
Robert  E.  Lee,  275-276. 

Carter,  Charles,  portrait  at 
Shirley,  266-267. 

Carter,  Elizabeth  Hill,  of  Shir- 
ley, daughter  of  the  third 
Edward  Hill,  and  wife  of 
John  Carter  of  Corotoman, 
24  S;  portrait  at  Shirley, 
264-266. 

Carter  family  acquire  Coroto- 
man, 246;  reach  greatest 
prominence  in  days  of 
"  King  "  Carter,  247;  cous- 
ins to  all  the  rest  of  Vir- 
ginia, 275. 

Carter,  John,  son  of  "  King  " 
Carter  of  Corotoman,  was 
secretary  of  the  colony; 
married  Elizabeth  Hill  of 
Shirley  in  1723,  248;  por- 
trait at  Shirley,  264-266. 

Carter,  Robert,  of  Corotoman 
on  the  Rappahannock,  one 
of  the  wealthiest  and  most 
influential  colonials;  his  pos- 
sessions; called  "  King  " 
Carter,  247;  portrait  at 
Shirley  ,.264. 

Carter,  Robert  Randolph,  of 
Shirley,  252. 

Carter,  Mrs.  Robert  Randolph, 
of  Shirley,  252. 

Carter,  Miss  Susy,  252. 

Chickahominy  River,  The,  100. 

Chippoak  Creek,  99,  103,  113. 
122. 

Chuckatuck  Creek,  18-22. 

City  Point,  270. 

Claremont,  103. 

Colonial  river  trade,  180-182. 

Constant,  Sarah,  12,  14,  89. 

Cornick,  Reverend  John,  rec- 
tor of  Westover  Church,  188. 

Corotoman,  Carter  family  ac- 
quire, 246;  265. 


Cotton,  Mrs.  An.,  86. 

Court  House  Creek,  180,  182. 

Curie's  Neck,  284. 

Cuyler,  Randolph,  126. 

Cuyler,  Mrs.  Randolph,  of 
Brandon,  126. 

Dale,  Sir  Thomas,  75,  246. 

Dancing  Point,  101. 

Delaware,  Lord,  74;  owner- 
ship of  Shirley,  246. 

Discovery,  ship,  12,  14. 

Douthat  family  of  Weyanoke, 

162,  166,  174. 

Douthat,  Fielding  Lewis,  162, 

163,  166. 

Douthat,  Mrs.  Mary  Willis 
Marshall,  granddaughter  of 
Chief-Justice  Marshall,  and 
present  mistress  of  Weyan- 
oke, 165-167. 

Dutch  Gap  Canal,  287. 

Eppes  Creek,  228,  238. 

Eppes  family,  home  at  City 
Point,  270. 

Falling  Creek,  288. 

Fleur  de  Hundred,  145,  174, 
175,  176,  178. 

Ford,  Paul  Leicester,  277. 

Fort  Powhatan,  172. 

"  Friggett  Landing,"  34,  41, 
45. 

Goodspeed,  ship,  11,  14. 

Gordon  family  of  Aberdeen- 
shire,  150,  152. 

Gordon,  William  Washington, 
126. 

Grant,  U.  S.,  Grant's  army 
crossed  the  James,  164,  172, 
174. 

Hampton  Roads,  10. 

Harrison,  Mrs.  Anne,  of  Berke- 
ley, 225. 

Harrison,  Miss  Belle,  of  Bran- 
don, 126;  in  court  gown  of 
her  colonial  aunt,  Evelyn 
Byrd,  142. 

Harrison,  Benjamin,  the  emi- 
grant, 109. 


296 


INDEX 


Harrison,  Benjamin,  of  Berke- 
ley, treasurer  of  the  colony, 
109,  236. 

Harrison,  Major  Benjamin,  of 
Berkeley,  member  of  the 
House  of  Burgesses,  236. 

Harrison,  Benjamin,  of  Berke- 
ley, member  of  the  Con- 
tinental Congress  and  signer 
of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, 236,  237. 

Harrison,  Benjamin,  of  Bran- 
don, member  of  the  Council, 
109. 

Harrison,  Colonel  Benjamin, 
of  Brandon,  portrait  by 
Peale,  117. 

Harrison,  Mrs.  Beniamin.  See 
Mistress  Anne  Randolph  of 
Wilton. 

Harrison,  Benjamin,  grandson 
of  William  Henry  Harrison 
of  Berkeley,  and  twenty- 
third  President  of  the  United 
States,  236. 

Harrison,  George  Evelyn,  of 
Brandon,  126. 

Harrison,  Mrs.  George  Evelyn, 
present  mistress  of  Brandon, 
112,  113,  126. 

Harrison,  Nathaniel,  of  Bran- 
don, 109. 

Harrison,  William  Henry,  of 
Berkeley,  ninth  President 
of  our  country,  236,  237. 

Harvard  College,  287. 

Harwood,  Joseph,  162,  163, 
166. 

Henrico  or  Henricopolis, 
founded  four  years  after 
James  Towne;  site  of  pro- 
posed college  which  would 
have  been  oldest  in  America, 
287-288. 

Henry,  Patrick,  209. 

Herring  Creek,  179,  180,  184, 
185. 

Hill  family  acquire  Shirley  246. 


Hill,  Edward,  the  second,  built 
present  mansion  at  Shirley 
about  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  247; 
his  portrait  at  Shirley,  262. 

Hill,  Mrs.  Edward,  portrait  of, 
at  Shirley,  262. 

Hollingshorst,  Elizabeth  Gor- 
don, 149-153. 

Hollingshorst,  Thomas,  150. 

Indian  massacre  of  1622,  141; 
caused  abandonment  of 
Henrico,  287-288. 

Irving,  Washington,  277. 

James  River,  The,  10,  11,  13; 
width,  23;  depth,  25;  his- 
torical importance,  97;  co- 
lonial life  upon,  98;  co- 
lonial water  life,  102;  Grant's 
army  crossed,  164,  172,  174; 
colonial  river  trade,  180- 
182;  sturgeon  in,  183-184; 
187,  193;  buoy-tender  on, 
206;  narrow  and  crooked 
from  Shirley  to  Richmond, 
283-286;  site  of  Richmond 
on,  289;  the  Falls  of  the, 
291;  292. 

James  Towne,  14,  25;  settle- 
ment of,  27;  development, 
decline,  and  abandonment 
of,  27-31;  Captain  Edward 
Ross,  88;  167;  the  typical 
village,  81-84;  streets,  81; 
buildings,  82;  "  alehouses," 
83;  abandonment  of,  72; 
re-settlement,  73;  final 
abandonment,  84;  ancient 
site  not  lost,  90;  unearthing 
the  buried  ruins,  90-95. 

Jamestown  Island,  27;  settle- 
ment of,  28;  appearance,  32, 
37;  the  way  across,  48; 
isthmus,  38;  width  of,  86, 
battle  upon,  47;  church,  38; 
49-53;  churchyard,  59-62; 
mysterious  tomb,  60;  Con- 
federate Fort,  62;  historic 


397 


INDEX 


sites,  66-80;  where  Poca- 
hontas and  John  Rolfe  were 
married,  67;  coming  of  "  the 
maids,"  75;  beginnings  of 
American  self-government, 
78;  the  colonists'  first  land- 
ing-place, 68,  88;  the  colo- 
nists' first  fort,  69;  the 
colonists'  first  village,  70; 
the  story  of  the  "  Starving 
Time,"  72;  the  "  Lone 
Cypress,"  38,  87. 

Jefferson,  Thomas,  117,  209, 
289. 

Kittewan  Creek,  145,  147,  148, 
154-161,  170,  171. 

Kittewan  house,  149. 

Kneller,  Sir  Godfrey,  118. 

Lee,  General  Robert  E.,  275- 
276. 

Lee,  Miss  Mary,  275. 

Lee,  "  Light  Horse  Harry," 
married  at  Shirley,  275- 
276. 

Lee,  Mrs.  Henry.  See  Anne 
Hill  Carter  of  Shirley. 

Lewis  family,  163. 

Madison,  James,  209. 

Marshall,  Chief-Justice  John, 
165-167,  209. 

Marshall,  John,  son  of  Chief- 
Justice  Marshall,  166. 

Marshall,  Mary  Willis,  wife  of 
Chief-Justice  Marshall,  166. 

Martin,  Captain  John,  108. 

Meadowville,  284. 

Merchants'  Hope  Church,  229. 

Mitchell,  Dr.  S.  Weir,  277. 

Mordaunt,  Charles,  118,  196, 
202. 

Monroe,  James,  209. 

Newport  News,  15. 

Oliver,  Commander  James  H., 
U.  S.  N.,  252. 

Oliver,  Mrs.  James  H.,  of  the 
Carter  family,  and  one  of 
the  present  owners  of  Shir- 
ley, 252. 


Opachisco,  75. 

Opechancanough,  Indian  chief, 
162. 

Parke,  Colonel  Daniel,  195. 

Peale,  Charles  Wilson,  117; 
his  portrait  of  Washington 
at  Shirley,  276-277. 

Peterborough,  Lord,  119,  196. 

Petersburg,  March  upon,  164. 

Piersey,  Captain  Abraham, 
ownership  of  Fleur  de  Hun- 
dred, 175. 

Pocahontas,  44,  67;  marriage 
to  John  Rolfe,  75;  after 
marriage  lived  at  Varina, 
284-286. 

Pope,  Alexander,  196,  220. 

Powell's  Creek,  228. 

Powhatan,  Indian  chief,  not 
at  wedding  of  Pocahontas, 
75;  100. 

"  Pyping  Point,"  33,  36. 

Ramsay,  Mrs.  C.  Sears,  present 
owner  of  Westover,  197- 
198;  202. 

Ramsay,  Elizabeth,  202. 

Ramsay  family  at  Westover, 
202. 

Randolph,  Mistress  Anne,  of 
\Vilton,  pre-Revolutionary 
belle,  married  the  second 
Benjamin  Harrison  of  Bran- 
don; her  portrait  at  Bran- 
don, 288-289. 

Richmond,  at  the  Falls  of  the 
James,  289;  founded  by 
William  Byrd  of  Westover 
in  1733,  291-292. 

Rolfe,  John,  67;  marriage  to 
Pocahontas,  75;  after  mar- 
riage lived  at  Varina,  284- 
286. 

Shirley,  colonial  seat  of  the 
Hills  and  of  the  Carters, 
238;  right  way  to  go  to, 
244;  great  seventeenth-cen- 
tury American  plantation, 
245;  early  owners  of,  246; 


298 


INDEX 


the  exterior  of  the  mansion 
and  the  ancient  messuage, 
250-251;  the  oldest  home- 
stead on  the  river  and  one  of 
the  oldest  in  the  country, 
251;  the  present  owners, 
251-252;  the  colonial  "great 
hall,"  252-255;  interior  of 
mansion,  256;  ghosts,  256- 
257;  colonial  portraits,  261- 
267;  265;  kitchen  and  cook- 
room;  colonial  furnishings 
copied  in  restoration  of  the 
Mt.  Vernon  kitchen,  271, 
272;  colonial  silverware, 
273-274;  romance  of  "  Light 
Horse  Harry  "  Lee  and  Anne 
Hill  Carter,  275-276;  Peale's 
portrait  of  Washington,  276- 
277;  old-time  Shirley,  277- 
281. 

Silverware,  colonial,  family 
silver  at  Brandon,  135; 
communion  service  of  Mar- 
tin's Brandon  Church  at 
Brandon,  135-136;  at  Shirley, 
273—274 

Smith,  Captain  John,  28,  43, 
100,  262. 

Stratford,  the  ancestral  home 
of  the  Lees,  276. 

Stuart,  Gilbert,  277. 

Thomas,  colojiial  house  of, 
166. 

Varina,  site  of  early  home  of 
John  Rolfe  and  Pocahontas, 
284-286. 

Virginia  society,  type  of,  99. 

War  of  1812,  fort  built  in, 
172. 

Washington,  George,  209,  211, 
256,  263,  267;  portrait  of, 
by  Peale,  at  Shirley,  276- 
277. 

Water  Supply  of  James  Towne 
colonists,  64. 

Westover,  180,  185,  187,  189, 
193;  became  property  of 


the  Byrds,  194;  present 
mansion  built,  196;  its 
colonial  importance,  and  its 
successive  owners,  197; 
riverward  front,  193,  198; 
interior  of  mansion,  199- 
201;  romantic  centre  of, 
201;  present  owner  and 
family,  202;  landward  front, 
courtyard,  and  noted  en- 
trance gates,  207-210;  gar- 
den and  sun-dial,  and  tomb 
of  William  Byrd,  210-214; 
mysterious  subterranean 
chambers,  218-221 ;  recent 
restoration  of,  221-223;  old 
survey  of  plantation,  224; 
graveyard,  225. 

Westover  Church,  179,  180; 
one  of  earliest  churches  in 
the  country,  187. 

Weyanoke,  145;  two  plan- 
tations, 157;  houses  of,  159- 
161;  an  Indian  name,  162; 
Upper,  162;  Lower,  163; 
164,  165;  present  day  fam- 
ily at,  166;  oldest  building 
at,  167;  postoffice  at, 
168;  171,  174,  175,  179, 
180. 

Williamsburg,  47,  63,  208, 
264. 

Whittaker,  Reverend  Alex- 
ander, 76. 

Willcox,  John  V.,  ownership 
of  Fleur  de  Hundred,  175. 

Wilton,  home  of  Mistress  Anne 
Randolph,  288-289. 

Windmill  Point  165;  first 
windmill  in  America,  177. 

Wowinchopunk,  43. 

Yeardley,  Sir  George,  tomb 
of,  61;  ownership  of  Wey- 
anoke, 162;  ownership  of 
Fleur  de  Hundred,  175;  176; 
built  first  windmill  in 
America,  177. 

Yonge,  Samuel  H.,  90. 


299 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  L  BRARY  FACIL  TY 


A  A  .....  000019358    1 

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